FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN 


KATHARINE    PEARSON   WOODS 

AUTHOR   OF    METZEROTT,    SHOEMAKER 


For  with  Thee  is  the  Fountain  of  Life." 


NEW    YORK 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1892 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


ELBCTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED 
AT  THE  APPLETON  PRESS,  U.  S.  A. 


TO  MY  FRIEND, 

TO  WHOM   I   OWE   THE   WORD   "VITALISM," 
AND   WITHOUT  WHOSE   KIND   ENCOURAGEMENT   AND   SYMPATHY 

THIS   STORY 

WOULD  HARDLY  HAVE  DARED  TO  BE  WRITTEN, 
IT  IS  GRATEFULLY  DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 
THE  COMMUNION  OF  SAINTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGK 

I. — "  PROVE  THE  SPIRITS  " 5 

II. — FREE  WILL  AND  TRIANGLES 15 

III. — BEYOND  THE  GATE 30 

IV.— "  CONJURED  !" 53 

V.— FELIX  GOLD  .        .        .       , 65 

VI. — THE  CASTING  OUT  OF  DEVILS        .        .        .        .        .78 

VII. — WHY  NEED  WE  DIE  ? 85 

VIII. — CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD 94 

IX. — WHAT  is  THIS  POWER? 106 

BOOK  II. 
THE  FORGIVENESS  OF  SINS. 

I. — "  CORRECTLY  CENTRALIZED  " 124 

II. — THE  POWER  OF  GOD 139 

III. — AT  THE   DOOR  OF   THE   SECRET 152 

IV. — VITALISM 169 

V. — THE   EDGE  OF   THE    WILDERNESS, 183 

VI. — "  BETTER  MAN,  BETTER  PRIEST  " 201 

VII. — "THE  WING  OF  THE  DESTROYER"        ....  211 

VIII; — NOT  THAT  !    ANYTHING   BUT   LOVE  !  .   226 


2228962 


4  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  III. 

THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY,  AND  THE  LIFE 
EVERLASTING. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.—" ASLEEP  IN  JESUS" 234 

II. — HERETICS  AND  INFIDELS 252 

III.— "As  YOU  WILL!" 266 

IV. — "  THE   ELEMENTS   SHALL  MELT  WITH  FERVENT  HEAT  "  .   274 

V. — "  THE  SEERESS" 294 

VI.— SUNRISE  .  306 


FROM  DUSK  TO   DAWN. 


BOOK  1. 

THE  COMMUNION  OF  SAINTS. 
CHAPTEE  I. 

"PROVE  THE   SPIRITS." 

Cyril  Deane,  immediately  upon  his  ordina- 
tion to  the  diaconate,  accepted  the  post  of  assistant 
minister  (as  the  Church  Almanac  hath  it)  at  the 
Church  of  the  Transfiguration,  Fairtown,  everybody 
was  surprised,  many  were  shocked,  and  not  a  few  said, 
"  I  told  you  so  ! " 

For  Cyril  had  been  for  more  than  a  year  definitely 
pledged  to  foreign  mission  work.  He  was  just  the  man 
for  it — young  and  strong,  with  no  near  ties  to  keep  him 
at  home,  and  with  a  small  income  of  his  own.  Better 
than  all  these,  he  was  a  man  of  "  singular  spirituality  " 
and  great  personal  holiness,  said  his  tutors  and  gov- 
ernors at  the  theological  seminary ;  while  in  the  opin- 
ion of  his  fellow-students  he  was  "  a  good  all-around 
man,"  and  all  the  more  ready  to  sympathize  with  other 


6  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

people's  fads  because  he  had  usually  one  of  his  own  in 
harness. 

That  "  because,"  when  one  comes  to  think  about  it, 
does  great  credit  to  the  penetration  of  him  who  de- 
vised it,  for  in  the  case  of  most  men  given  to  fads  it 
would  be  singularly  inapplicable. 

Cyril  Deane  had,  however  many  there  might  be  to 
whom  he  was  a  friend,  one  only  who  was  able  to  be  a 
friend  to  him,  and  that  one  was  Arthur  Lydgate.  They 
had  been  classmates  at  college,  and  had  gone  through 
their  three  years  of  divinity  in  preparation  for  being 
ordained  together,  when  a  short,  sharp  attack  of  pneu- 
monia had  served  as  Arthur's  passport  to  that  bourne 
whence,  according  to  Shakespeare,  no  traveler  returns, 
though  there  be  those  who  maintain  otherwise.  And, 
in  fact,  Arthur  himself  believed,  upon  excellent  au- 
thority, that  he  should  return  to  the  earth  at  a  cer- 
tain time,  which  he  called  the  Last  Day,  though  not 
in  the  exact  semblance  wherein  he  departed.  For,  in- 
deed, that  semblance  was  to  him  a  sore  hindrance — a 
covering  rather  than  a  revelation  of  his  true  nature. 
He  was  a  tall,  gaunt,  saturnine  personage,  dark  as  an 
Indian,  and  as  reserved  and  stoical.  Not  even  with 
Cyril  did  those  firm,  thin  lips  often  unclose  in  free 
converse.  But  there  was,  as  he  once  said  gratefully, 
little  need  to  confide  in  Cyril :  he  knew  it  all  without 
a  word. 

Perhaps  because  his  mortal  body  thus  offended  him, 
Arthur  treated  it  relentlessly,  striving  to  bring  it  into 


"PROVE  THE  SPIRITS."  7 

subjection  to  the  spirit  by  fasting  and  penance ;  but 
this  course  did  by  no  means  decrease  the  stern,  cold 
reserve  which  so  misrepresented  his  tender,  self -distrust- 
ful, loving  soul. 

His  supposed  destiny  was  as  different  from  that 
which  Cyril  had  mapped  out  for  himself  as  was  this 
outward  disposition  from  the  other's  sunny  and  sym- 
pathetic nature.  His  father  was  the  rector  of  the 
Church  of  the  Transfiguration  already  mentioned,  and 
it  had  long  been  planned  that  Arthur  should  return 
thither  as  his  father's  curate. 

"  He  is  growing  very  old,  you  know,  Cyril,"  the 
young  man  said  one  night,  or  rather  morning,  when 
long  hours  of  study  and  discussion  had  partially  un- 
sealed the  dumb  lips.  "He  needs  some  one  to  help 
him  in  the  mere  routine  work  of  the  parish,  and  I  can 
do  that  at  least.  Besides,  if  any  one  can  drive  out 
this  dumb  devil  of  mine  it  is  he." 

"You  are  unjust  to  yourself,  Arthur,"  Cyril  said 
warmly.  "  Dumb  devil,  indeed  !  I  don't  know  any  one 
who  writes  a  better  sermon  than  you." 

"  Or  who  fails  more  miserably  when  he  comes  to 
deliver  it ! " 

"That  is  a  matter  of  practice.  Besides,  it  is  a 
severe  ordeal  for  any  man  to  preach  before  the  fellows 
here,  primed  and  cocked  for  criticism  as  they  are. 
You  can't  lose  yourself  in  your  subject  for  thinking 
of  how  you  may  catch  it  afterward." 

Arthur  smiled.     "  Don't  you  see,"  he  said,  "  that 


8  FftOM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

only  proves  that  one  is  thinking  not  of  the  subject 
but  of  one's  self?  Well,  well,  never  mind;  it  is  an 
ordeal  that  is  nearly  over,  at  all  events.  Thank  Heaven, 
one  does  not  preach  one's  graduating  thesis ! " 

"  What  is  your  subject  ?    Do  you  mind  telling  me  ?  " 

"  Not  now,"  said  Arthur.  "  What  occult  influence 
is  there  in  this  hour  of  the  morning,  old  fellow,  that 
enables  one  to  talk?  Is  there  some  subtle  magnetism 
in  the  air  ?  The  actinism  of  the  approaching  sunrise, 
perhaps  ! " 

"  Actinic  rays  are  more  or  less  material,  I  suppose," 
said  Cyril ;  "  and  one's  spirit  should  answer  only  to 
the  Father  of  Spirits,  Arthur." 

"  But  if  one's  spirit  be  already  in  bondage  to  matter, 
as  is  mine  in  this  bodily  dungeon  I  inhabit,  then 
magnetism  which  should  break  the  chains  might  free 
the  spirit." 

"  Isn't  it  beginning  at  the  wrong  end  ?  "  asked  Cyril, 
thoughtfully.  "  Isn't  it  the  business  of  the  spirit  to 
redeem  from  bondage  both  body  and  soul?  I  have 
not  thought  very  deeply  about  it,  Lydgate,  but  that's 
how  it  strikes  me." 

"  Ah,  you  may  be  right ;  at  all  events,  I  shall  study 
my  subject  from  that  point  of  view  also.  It  is  to 
be  (my  thesis,  you  know)  on  The  Communion  of  Saints." 

"  The  intercourse  of  spirit  with  spirit  ? "  asked 
Cyril. 

"Yes.    What  prevents  it,  Deane?" 

"  Our  fallen  humanity,  I  suppose." 


"PROVE  THE  SPIRITS."  9 

"  The  veil  of  flesh,"  said  Arthur. 

"  That  is  to  say,  sin,"  said  Cyril.  "  Our  Lord  took 
our  nature  upon  him  and  wore  the  veil  of  flesh ;  but 
it  did  not  hinder  his  intercourse  with  God,  with  angels, 
or  with  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect." 

"  That  is  the  meaning  of  the  Transfiguration," 
returned  his  friend.  "  What  a  fellow  you  are,  Deane  ! 
You  say  you  have  never  thought  deeply  on  the  subject, 
and  yet  you  attain  at  a  bound  the  height  to  which  I 
have  struggled  step  by  step." 

"I  did  not  know  I  had  thought  of  it  at  all," 
returned  Cyril ;  "  but,  of  course,  when  these  things 
are  presented  to  one's  mind  there  is  only  one  way  to 
look  at  them." 

"  Only  one  way  for  you"  said  his  friend  ;  "  but  my 
earthly  tabernacle  is  of  grosser  material,  and  my  eyes 
need  much  purging  to  see  clearly." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  read  the  thought  in  your  mind," 
said  Cyril,  laughing,  "  and  innocently  purloined  it. 
A  spiritualist  once  said  I  was  a  '  sensitive,'  so  I  may 
have  the  faculty  of  clairvoyance.  What  is  it,  Arthur? 
Have  I  said  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  You  ? "  returned  Arthur.  "  As  if  you  could  ! 
Only —  Well,  never  mind ;  I  will  tell  you  another  time." 

But  that  other  time  never  came,  nor  was  the  thesis 
ever  written. 

To  Cyril  the  death  of  his  friend  was  a  veritable 
disrupting  of  mind  and  spirit.  He  went  through  his 
examinations  well,  but  mechanically  ;  intellect  and  will 


10  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

responded  to  the  call  upon  them,  but  heart  and  spirit 
were  not  in  the  grave  with  Arthur,  but  seeking  him, 
feeling  after  him  silently  in  all  those  unknown  regions 
where  our  loved  ones  go  before,  perhaps  to  aid  their 
Master  in  preparing  a  place  for  us.  To  himself  Cyril 
seemed  numb  or  half  asleep.  It  was  not  until  the  day 
of  his  ordination  that  his  spirit  returned  to  him  again. 

Until  that  moment  it  would  have  been  untrue  to 
say  that  he  had  missed  his  friend  acutely ;  but  on  the 
day  to  which  they  had  so  long  looked  forward  together 
he  awoke  from  a  heavy  sleep  in  a  passion  of  bitter 
longing  for  the  absent  one.  They  had  planned  to 
stand  side  by  side  on  that  day;  to  kneel  together  for 
the  laying  on  of  hands ;  and,  as  Cyril  entered  the 
church,  alone  amid  the  hundreds  there,  the  very  air 
about  him  ached  with  loss  and  emptiness.  Then  fol- 
lowed the  eucharist,  the  communion ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  it — 

It  was  nothing  that  we  usually  connect  with  the 
idea  of  a  spirit  manifestation — in  fact,  it  could  by  no 
means  be  said  to  be  in  any  sense  manifest.  It  was 
simply  Arthur  himself  as  even  Cyril  had  only  on 
rare  occasions  been  able  to  recognize  him ;  Arthur,  free 
from  the  trammels  of  the  flesh,  able  to  speak — ah ! 
far  more  able  than  was  his  friend  to  hear ! 

And  yet  Cyril  rose  from  his  knees  with  no  vague 
notions  of  the  message  his  friend  had  brought,  and 
with  a  very  clear  and  well-defined  idea  as  to  what  he 


"PROVE  THE  SPIRITS."  H 

himself  must  do.  The  missionary  bishop  whom  he 
had  promised  to  accompany  to  his  distant  field  was 
present  at  the  ordination,  and  to  him  the  young  man 
betook  himself  that  same  afternoon. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  people  will  say  of  you  ?  " 
said  the  bishop,  with  some  coldness. 

"  They  will  say  I  am  a  coward  ;  that  I  have  put  my 
hand  to  the  plow  and  looked  back,"  said  Cyril,  smiling ; 
"  but  if  I  were  to  go  for  fear  of  man's  dispraise  I  should 
not  be  worth  having — should  I  ?  " 

"  Eeally,  Mr.  Deane,  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  answer 
you,"  said  the  bishop.  He  was  a  good  old  man,  and 
would  have  been  better  if  the  difficulty  as  to  ways  and 
means  of  carrying  on  his  work  had  less  often  clipped  the 
wings  of  his  spirit.  "  I — I  fear  " —  But  there  he  paused. 
"  We  so  often  deceive  our  own  souls,"  he  ended,  rather 
lamely. 

"  I  do  not  blame  you  for  supposing  that  such  is  my 
case,"  said  Cyril  calmly ;  "  it  is  kind  of  you  not  to  ac- 
cuse me  of  trying  to  deceive  you." 

"  Why,  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  that"  said  the 
bishop.  "  No,  no ;  I  am  sure  that  you  believe  yourself  to 
have  received  a  real  communication  from  your  friend. 
But,  my  dear  son,  when  you  consider  the  circumstances, 
and  how  very  natural  it  was  that  you  should  have  been 
thinking  of  him  just  then,  you  will  recognize  the  proba 
bility  of  your  imagination  playing  you  a  trick." 

"  I  can't  argue  about  it,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
pained  look, 


12  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  But  that  you  should  give  up  a  work  like  ours  for 
mere  ordinary —  Why,"  said  the  bishop  energetically, 
"  any  one  could  do  the  work  there  at  the  Transfigura- 
tion !  It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  a  glorified  spirit 
would  return  to  earth  for  the  purpose  of  withdrawing 
you  from  the  mission  field  and  sending  you  there  !  " 

"  I  can  not  argue  about  it ;  I  can  only  obey,"  said 
Cyril.  "You  must  not  misunderstand  me,  however; 
there  was  no  definite  message — only  the  strong  sense 
impressed  upon  me  that  I  am  Arthur's  representative ; 
that  I  have  to  stand  in  his  place,  and  do  the  work  from 
which  he  was  taken  away.  Sir,  do  you  believe  in  the 
communion  of  saints  ?  " 

"  Why — ah — of  course  !  "  said  the  bishop. 

"Do  you  consider  all  intercourse  impossible  be- 
tween us  who  remain  and  those  who  have  gone  be- 
fore?" 

"  Why — no !  not  impossible,  Mr.  Deane,  but  you 
must  admit  it — it — is — ah — " 

"  Very  rare,"  said  Cyril.  "  Don't  you  think,  though, 
sir,  it  would  be  more  common  if  we  looked  for  and  be- 
lieved in  it  ?  " 

"  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  turn  spiritualist,"  said 
the  bishop. 

"  That  is  impossible — after  this  morning,"  said 
Cyril.  "  Are  we  not  told,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden  in- 
spiration, "  to  prove  the  spirits  whether  they  be  of 
God?" 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  bishop. 


"PROVE  THE  SPIRITS."  13 

"  But,  sir,  if  I  go  with  you  at  once  I  shall  not  be 
proving,  but  despising,  the  spirit  that  spoke  to  me  to-day. 
Now,  I  am  very  sure  that  a  spirit  which  came  from  God 
— that  is,  by  his  permission — would  not  bid  me  give 
up  the  work  I  have  looked  forward  to  so  long  unless 
there  were  something  to  do  in  this  other  field  which  only 
I — as  Arthur's  representative — can  do." 

"  Something  of  greater  importance  than  mission 
work  ?  "  said  the  bishop  incredulously. 

"  By  spiritual  measurement,"  said  Cyril.  "  At 
least,  the  only  way  to  know  is  to  go  there  and  learn." 

The  bishop  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  Cyril's 
face  was  more  eloquent  than  his  words,  and  silenced 
him.  It  was  a  beautiful  face,  though,  not  exactly  a 
handsome  one ;  the  clear,  pale  skin,  through  which 
the  blood  of  youth  and  perfect  health  glowed  at  times 
so  readily ;  the  hair,  brown  in  the  shade  and  golden  in 
the  sunshine ;  the  irregular,  mobile  features ;  the  change- 
ful, brilliant  eyes,  whose  color  was  so  hard  to  determine 
— all  these,  combined  with  his  strong,  well-knit  frame, 
agile  and  muscular,  but  spare  and  slender  as  a  grey- 
hound, to  produce  the  impression  that  upon  Cyril 
Deane's  spirit  the  prison-house  of  the  flesh  weighed 
passing  lightly.  Truly,  if  messages  might  come  from 
the  spirit  world  who  than  he  more  likely  to  receive 
them  ?  And  even  as  the  thought  passed  through  the 
bishop's  mind  Cyril  looked  up  and  caught  his  eye. 

There  was  a  quick  glance  of  comprehension  and 
gratitude ;  then  the  old  man  sank  back  in  his  chair  and 


14  FROM  DUSK   TO  DAWN. 

covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  There  were  tears  in 
them  when  he  took  it  away  again  and  held  it  out  to  the 
young  man. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  forgive  me  for  doubting  you. 
Go  and  learn,  and  when  you  have  learned  come  and 
teach  me.  Perhaps  that  is  part  of  the  work  you  have 
to  do.  Though,  mind,"  he  added  warningly,  "  it  may  be 
purely  the  work  of  your  own  imagination." 

"  If  so  it  will  be  made  known  to  me,"  said  Cyril 
quietly. 

"  Then  I  don't  give  you  up ;  I  only  lend  you  for  a 
time,"  said  the  bishop.  "  Is  that  the  understanding  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Cyril  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FKEE   WILL   AND   TRIANGLES. 

SYMPATHETIC  and  transparent  as  we  have  found  him, 
Cyril  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  take  every  one 
he  met  into  his  inmost  confidence.  To  cast  our  pearls 
before  swine  who  are  in  search  of  acorns  is  as  unfair 
to  them  as  to  ourselves.  For  the  swine  are  wiser  than 
we  in  their  generation — truer  than  we,  also  ;  and  a  pearl 
can  by  no  means  nourish  the  life  within  them,  the 
preservation  of  which  is  their  special  worldly  business ; 
therefore  they  will  nothing  of  pearls  save  to  trample 
them  under  foot.  As  for  the  rending  which  follows,  it  is 
well  deserved  by  those  who  know  so  little  of  that 
higher  life  which  may  be  fed  by  the  pure,  sad  love- 
liness of  a  perfect  pearl — the  child  of  disease  and  the 
heritor  of  death — as  to  liken  it  unto  the  "  blind  life  " 
which  informs  the  body  of  a  swine. 

To  his  bishop  Cyril  had  happily  been  able  to  speak 
freely ;  but  there  were  plenty  of  minor  reasons  where- 
with to  accompany  the  offering  of  himself  to  Dr. 
Lydgate,  the  father  of  Arthur. 

The  Transfiguration  was  a  very  poor  parish  indeed, 
and  the  rector's  family  was  large.  It  had  been  hard 


16  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

for  him  for  many  years  to  live  upon  the  salary,  which 
was  all  his  people  were  able  to  pay ;  neither  they  nor 
he  could  afford  a  curate.  They  loved  him.  There  was 
no  threatening  cloud  of  superannuation  in  the  air,  of 
being  "asked  to  resign,"  turned  out  on  the  world  to 
starve  after  his  years  of  faithful  and  loving  service  ; 
but  just  because  he  had  served  his  Master  so  well  in 
their  midst,  the  circle  was  widening,  the  parish  was 
growing,  the  harvest  was  more  abundant  than  one  la- 
borer could  reap. 

Arthur  had  made  his  own  way  at  college  and  the 
seminary.  He  could  have  lived  as  his  father's  curate  on 
a  smaller  stipend  than  any  other  could  have  done, 
because  he  would  have  lived  at  home.  And  the  growth 
in  numbers  had  been  such  during  the  last  few  years 
that  this  very  small  sum  had  been  provided ;  but  while 
rectory  and  parish  alike  were  still  dumb  under  the 
shock  of  their  sudden  loss,  came  Cyril  Deane's  letter, 
offering,  if  Dr.  Lydgate  would  have  him,  to  do  what  he 
could  to  fill  Arthur's  place  for  a  year. 

"  By  that  time,"  wrote  Cyril,  "  you  may  have  found 
some  one  more  worthy.  At  all  events,  it  will  spare  you 
the  trouble  of  finding  another  man  just  now;  and 
surely  you  and  I,  who  love  Arthur  so  well,  ought  to 
comfort  each  other  now  that  he  has  left  us.  I  am 
sure  it  is  what  he  would  like,  and  I  should  like  noth- 
ing else  so  well  as  to  be  to  you  a  little  of  what  he 
would  be  if  he  were  still  with  us." 

But  Cyril  found,  when  he  followed  his  letter,  that 


FREE   WILL  AND   TRIANGLES.  17 

it  would  be  better  for  him  not  to  make  his  home  at  the 
rectory.  There  were  two  rooms  in  the  church  tower, 
one  over  the  other,  which  he  obtained  leave  to  fit  up 
for  himself;  "they  only  needed,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
"plaster,  paint,  and  paper  to  be  perfectly  habitable." 
To  other  people  that  "  only  "  seemed  a  very  large  word  ; 
but  when  the  young  deacon  pulled  off  his  new  straight- 
cut  black  coat  and  went  to  work  on  the  repairs  himself, 
without  asking  for  aid  or  contributions,  it  turned  out 
that  the  congregation  included  plasterers,  painters,  and 
paper-hangers  who  were  willing  and  able  to  help. 
Then,  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society  carpeted  both  floors 
for  him ;  and  when  a  modicum  of  furniture  had  been 
set  around,  and  his  desk  and  books  sent  on  from  the 
seminary,  it  proved  to  be  as  pleasant  a  hermitage 
as  soul  of  man  could  desire.  As  for  his  meals,  he  was 
nominally  to  get  breakfast  and  supper  for  himself,  upon 
a  little  gas  stove,  and  to  dine  at  the  house  of  one  of 
his  parishioners,  who  said  he  "didn't  have  no  money 
to  spare,  but  if  Mr.  Deane  liked  to  come  and  take  pot- 
luck,  there  would  always  be  a  knife  and  fork  handy." 
Mr.  Deane  did  like  both  the  pot-luck  and  the  man 
himself,  despite  his  double  negatives ;  but  his  home 
cooking  very  often  resolved  itself  into  a  rap  at  the 
study  door  and  "  mother's  compliments,  and  she  don't 
believe  you  can  cook  as  good  as  her,  so  she  sent  you  some 
waffles  and  coffee  for  breakfast."  Of  course,  the  bearer 
of  "  mother's  compliments  "  always  stopped  to  help  eat 
the  waffles.  Sometimes  two  trays  met  at  the  church 


18  FROM   DUSK  TO    DAWN. 

door ;  then  there  was  a  party  of  three  at  the  breakfast, 
and  the  fun  was  immense  of  washing  up  afterward  and 
getting  the  dishes  properly  sorted.  As  for  other  meals, 
he  could  have  dined  out  three  times  a  day  as  far  as 
invitations  went,  and  took  tea  with  his  parishioners 
about  five  times  a  week — every  evening,  indeed,  except 
Saturday  and  Sunday,  which  he  made  it  a  rule  to 
spend  alone. 

It  would  have  been  for  most  men  a  life  at  once  too 
lonely  and  too  unsettled ;  but  it  suited  exactly  Cyril's 
peculiar  nature.  The  large  drafts  upon  his  sympathy 
made  by  contact  with  so  many  differing  individualities 
would  have  worn  him  out  body  and  soul,  had  not  the 
solitude  of  his  hermitage  returned  the  force  he  had  lost ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  even  he  might  have  grown 
morbid  from  thus  living  alone  had  not  the  world  of 
duties  outside  made  so  many  demands  upon  mind  and 
heart. 

At  the  rectory  he  was,  to  his  dismay  and  self-blame, 
less  at  home  than  in  any  house  in  the  parish.  Dr. 
Lydgate  was  a  man  not  of  deep  learning  or  profound 
intellect,  but  of  a  warm  heart  and  genial,  earnest  man- 
ner. His  best  sermon  was  his  life ;  his  next  best  such 
as  were  drawn  from  his  own  experience  of  life.  When 
he  felt  obliged  to  preach  a  doctrinal  discourse  he  was 
timid  and  conservative,  all  the  more  afraid  to  vary  by 
one  letter  the  words  of  the  dogma,  because  he  felt 
dimly  that  the  truth  behind  it  was  one  infinitely  be- 
yond the  power  of  words  to  express. 


FREE  WILL  AND  TRIANGLES.  19 

Mrs.  Lydgate  was  in  appearance  so  like  Arthur 
that  it  gave  Cyril  a  sharp  pang  to  find  that  her  cold, 
reserved  manner,  so  far  from  melting  before  his  own 
affectionate  regard  for  his  friend's  mother,  covered  an 
absolute  dislike  for  the  man  who  stood  in  her  son's 
place,  who  had  lived  while  her  son  had  died.  He  came 
to  the  conclusion  at  last — many  months  after  the  time 
of  which  we  are  now  speaking — that  Mrs.  Lydgate's 
nature  tvas,  what  Arthur's  had  appeared,  cold  and  un- 
loving; that  her  son  had  inherited  his  outward  man 
from  her,  but  his  inward  nature  from  his  father ;  and 
that  the  struggle  between  the  two — the  tragedy  of  his 
life — had  been  happily  ended  by  what  we  call  death. 

"  It  was  the  business  of  the  '  new  man  '  to  conquer 
that  old  Adam,"  said  Cyril  to  himself ;  "  but  whether 
in  this  one  life  he  could  ever  have  quite  succeeded,  I  do 
not  know — possibly  not ;  so  our  Father  sent  death  to 
help  him.  He  without  us  shall  not  be  made  perfect ;  in 
the  home  above,  the  spirit  will  be  purified  and  made 
strong,  to  inform,  through  and  through,  the  resurrection 
body  which  in  that  day  it  will  take  again." 

But  this  thought  belongs  rather  to  the  close  of  our 
story  than  to  its  beginning. 

Upon  all  of  Mrs.  Lydgate's  children  save  one,  some- 
thing of  the  mother's  shadow  had  fallen ;  and  yet  each 
one  of  the  rector's  family  was  more  highly  thought  of  in 
the  parish  than  "  Miss  Nina,"  as  she  was  called,  though 
not  one  was  so  well  beloved.  People  said  that  it  was 
Mrs.  Lydgate's  anxieties — poor  thing ! — and  her  hard 


20  PROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

life,  that  had  made  her  so  cold  and  stern  ;  but  that  she 
had  a  good  heart  under  it  all,  and  could  always  be  de- 
pended on  to  do  her  duty.  The  same  with  all  the  others, 
who  were  every  one  sure  to  get  on  in  life;  but  Miss 
Nina — dear  child  ! — Lord  only  knew  what  would  be- 
come of  her  if  she  were  ever  left  alone  to  hoe  her 
own  row  in  the  world. 

Nina  was  sixteen ;  tall,  gawky,  and  undeveloped 
both  in  body  and  mind,  yet  not  without  promise  of 
loveliness  in  both.  She  was  bright  and  clever  at  school, 
but  frightfully  inaccurate;  ready  to  believe  anything, 
always  out  at  elbows,  never  in  a  bad  humor,  and  as 
ready  to  laugh  at  her  own  mistakes,  blunders,  and  cre- 
dulity as  any  one  else. 

Cyril  and  she  were  friends  at  sight ;  but  Mrs.  Lyd- 
gate's  ideas  of  discipline  and  propriety  were  so  rigid  as 
to  place  many  barriers  to  their  better  acquaintance; 
therefore  the  young  deacon  was  surprised  one  Saturday 
afternoon,  upon  answering  a  knock  at  his  study  door,  to 
find  Nina  standing  there,  long,  smiling,  and  tattered  as 
usual. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  come  in,"  she  said,  suiting  the  ac- 
tion to  the  word,  "  especially  as  I  have  a  very  important 
message  for  you — at  least,  I  am  sure  it  is  important,  be- 
cause the  person  said  so  who  gave  it  to  me." 

"Why,  of  course  you  may  come  in,"  said  Cyril, 
slightly  perplexed  notwithstanding.  '"The  person?' 
That  sounds  very  mysterious  indeed,  Miss  Nina.  There 
is  nothing  wrong  at  the  rectory,  I  hope  ?  " 


FREE  WILL  AND  TRIANGLES.  21 

"  Oh  !  you  think  so  because  I  have  come  here,"  said 
Nina  coolly.  "  Only  a  domestic  cataclysm — or  is  it  cat- 
apult ?  I  know  it's  not  catacomb — could  excuse  that, 
I  suppose.  But  I  don't  see  the  least  harm  in  it  myself, 
Mr.  Deane." 

"  No,  nor  I,"  said  the  young  man  hastily ;  "  but — why. 
of  course  ! — only  as  children  should  obey  their  parents, 
you  know,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  walk  with  you  to- 
ward the  rectory,  or — or  anywhere  you  are  going,  and 
then  you  can  give  me  the  message  as  we  go." 

"  I  should  like  to  stay  and  have  tea  with  you,  as  the 
boys  do,"  said  Nina  wistfully  ;  "  but,  of  course,  it  would 
be  perfectly  awful  if  I  did.  0  Mr.  Deane,  you  can't 
think  how  stupid  it  is  to  be  a  girl ! " 

Cyril  reached  down  his  hat  from  its  peg  and  opened 
the  door.  "  Miss  Nina,"  he  said,  "  it  is  equally  stupid 
to  be  a  man.  Do  not  you  suppose  I  should  like  to  have 
you,  as  well  as  you  would  like  to  stay  ?  Come  along." 

Nina  obeyed,  but  as  he  closed  the  door  she  said,  "  I 
wish  you  would  explain  to  me  why  it  is  wrong  to  do 
what  is  not  wrong  in  itself  ?  " 

"  Is  it  our  business  to  avoid  wrong  or  to  do  right  ?  " 
he  said.  "  By  the  by,  this  is  not  the  way  to  the  rec- 
tory. I  am  quite  at  your  disposal,  but  may  I  ask  where 
you  are  taking  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  her  name,"  said  Nina,  "  and  I  did  not 
see  her  face,  so  I  should  not  know  her  again,  except  her 
voice.  She's  got  a  most  lovely  voice." 

"  My  dear  child,  what  are  you  talking  about?  " 


22  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  About  the  person  who  wants  to  see  you,"  said  Nina. 
"  I  don't  know  the  number  of  the  house,  and  I  have 
forgotten  the  name  of  the  street ;  but  I  do  know  how  to 
find  it,  and  I  am  taking  you  there." 

"  Oh !  and  you  say  it  is  important  ?  " 

"  A  matter  of  life  and  death,  she  said." 

"  Then  I  suppose  there  can  be  no  harm  in  letting 
you  show  me  the  door ;  but  you  will  have  to  go  home 
alone,  Miss  Nina." 

"I  could  not  possibly  show  you  the  door,  for  I 
haven't  seen  it  myself.  It's  a  gate  in  an  ivy-clad  wall — 
the  most  romantic  place ;  and  it's  a  long  distance  away, 
so  you  will  have  time  to  explain  loads  of  things  to  me." 

"  I  see,"  said  Cyril,  laughing,  "  that  I  must  just  put 
you  through  a  catechism,  Miss  Nina.  When  did  you 
see  this  mysterious  person  ?  " 

"  Day  before  yesterday." 

"  Dear  me  !  and  a  matter  of  life  and  death  !  Why 
didn't  you—" 

"  Because  she  told  me  not.  Come,  now,  never  mind 
the  catechism.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story  as  if  it  was 
a  history  lesson  at  school,  dates  and  all.  I  can  be  ac- 
curate when  I  give  my  mind  to  it,  Mr.  Deane." 

"  You  can  be  anything  good  that  you  try  to  be,  Miss 
Nina." 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  girl ;  "  they  say  I  believe  every- 
thing I  hear,  but  I'm  sure  you  are  mistaken  about 
that,  However,  it  was  the  day  before  yesterday,  as 
I  tell  you,  and  about  half  an  hour  before  school 


FREE   WILL   AXD   TRIANGLES.  23 

closed,  that  I  was  told  a  lady  would  like  to  speak  to 
me.  I  went  down  to  the  principal's  room — we're  not 
allowed  to  see  strangers,  you  know,  except  in  her 
presence — and  there  was  this  lady,  a  tiny  scrap  of  a 
thing,  as  high  as  my  elbow  and  as  big  around  as  my 
thumb.  She  had  a  thick  veil  over  her  face  and  a  black 
dress  on ;  but  I  could  feel  her  eyes  shining  through  it 
— I  mean  the  veil,  of  course." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Cyril. 

"  Well,  and  if  you'll  believe  me,  Miss  Stephens — the 
principal,  you  know — was  fast  asleep  !  " 

"Asleep?" 

"  Sound  as  a  top  ;  and,  you  know,  the  girls  say  she 
never  does  sleep  any  way,  and  sees  out  of  the  back  of  her 
head  !  Well,  the  lady  took  my  hand  in  hers^her  gloves 
were  off —  Now,  ain't  I  accurate  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so.     Do  go  on." 

"  And  she  said  :  '  You  are  Nina  Lydgate.  Go,  on 
Saturday  afternoon — not  before — to  Cyril  Deane  ;  bring 
him  to  me  at  four  o'clock.  Meanwhile,  speak  of  this 
to  no  one ;  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death.'  '  But  where 
shall  I  find  you  ? '  I  said.  '  I  will  wait  for  you  in  the 
picture-gallery  on  the  next  street,'  she  said.  '  Come  to 
me  there  after  school,  and  I  will  show  you  where  I 
live.' " 

"  My  dear  child !     Surely  you  did  not  go  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  did,  Mr.  Deane.  It's  not  wrong  to  go  to 
a  picture-gallery."  * 

"  But—    Well,  go  on.     What  happened  ?  " 


24  FROM   DUSK  TO   DAWN. 

"  Nothing  at  all — except  that  she  was  there,  and  that 
we  walked  a  few  squares  to  this  gate  in  the  wall  that  I 
told  you  about,  and  then  she  asked  me  if  I  knew  my 
way  home,  and  if  I  could  be  sure  of  finding  it  again,  and 
I  said,  '  Yes.'  So  she  told  me  again  not  to  speak  of  her 
to  any  one  but  you,  and  I  came  home." 

"  And  poor  Miss  Stephens  ?  " 

"  Not  poor  at  all !  The  lady  had  cured  her  head- 
ache." 

"She  had?" 

"  Yes.  She  told  me,  when  I  had  promised  to  meet 
her,  you  know,  to  go  up-stairs  to  my  lessons  again ; 
but  just  as  I  got  outside  the  door  I  heard  her  speaking 
to  Miss  Stephens,  and  I  was  so  surprised  that  I  stopped. 
She  said,  '  Is  your  headache  better  ? '  and  Miss  Stephens 
said,  '  Why,  it  is  entirely  gone  !  and  when  you  laid  your 
hand  on  my  forehead  it  was  very  bad.  '  AVho  are  you 
that  can  do  such  things  ? '  And  the  lady  said,  '  That 
is  a  very  simple  thing.'  Then  she  looked  around,  saw 
me,  and  shook  her  head  at  me ;  so  I  ran  off,  and  that's 
all  I  know." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  Cyril,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  isn't 
all  /  know.  Miss  Nina,  you  have  done  very  wrong, 
and  it  seems  to  be  my.  business  to  tell  you  of  it,  as 
there  is  no  one  else  who  can." 

Nina's  eyes  opened  very  wide;  her  lips  parted  in 
amazement.  "  Wrong  !  "  she  said. 

"  Ah !  "  returned  Cyril,  "  Young  America  honestly 
can  not  understand  why,  but  it  is  wrong  just  the  same. 


FREE   WILL   AND  TRIANGLES.  25 

Miss  Nina,  did  you  ever  hear  of  an  old-fashioned 
virtue  called  obedience  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  have  it  for  breakfast,  dinner,  supper,  and 
between  meals  ? "  said  the  girl.  "  But  I  wasn't  diso- 
bedient, Mr.  Deane.  Nobody  ever  told  me — " 

" '  Nobody  ever  told  me '  is  not  obedience,  Miss 
Nina — it  is  slavery.  Why  do  you  suppose  the  lady  in 
black  put  your  teacher  to  sleep?" 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  mesmerized  her  ? "  asked 
Nina,  with  a  look  between  fright  and  eager  interest, 
pressing  closer  to  his  side. 

"  Well,  of  course  I  can't  say  positively,"  returned 
Cyril  cautiously,  "  but,  at  all  events,  she  took  the  pre- 
caution to  send  you  off  before  waking  her.  Does  not 
that  look  as  though  she  knew  the  authorities  would 
object  to  the  message  she  had  to  send  by  you  ?  Then 
by  her  directions  you  come  to  me  secretly — doing  a  thing 
your  mother  would  surely  disapprove  of  if  she  knew. 
Dear  child,  pray,  forgive  me — it  is  very  hard  for  me 
to  scold  you." 

"  You're  an  old  fogy !  "  said  Nina,  between  laughing 
and  crying.  "  You  think  girls  ought  to  sit  up  in  towers 
and  sew  on  tapestry,  and  pull  veils  over  their  faces  if 
a  man  comes  along." 

"  Now  you  know  perfectly  well  I  am  quite  on  the 
other  side,"  said  Cyril,  laughing.  "  You  may  possibly  be 
President  of  the  United  States  some  day,  Miss  Nina, 
and  then  how  will  you  rule  if  you  have  not  first 
learned  to  obey  ?  And  if  women  are  to  take  an  equal 


26  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

share  in  business  and  politics,  they  will  need  all  the 
more  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit  and 
the  grace  of  true  modesty." 

Nina's  face  flamed.  "  Modesty  ?  "  she  stammered. 
"0  Mr.  Deane— " 

"  It  hurts  me  worse  than  you,"  said  Cyril  ruefully. 
"I  know  you  didn't  mean  any  harm,  and  I  am  as 
fond  of  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  little  sister — I  am, 
really.  But,  you  see,  to  carry  a  message  that  your  mother 
must  not  hear  of  to  any  man  is  not  a  nice  thing  to 
do;  and  as  you  get  older,  Miss  Nina,  you  will  find 
that  most  of  us  need  to  be  kept  at  a  distance.  Come, 
now,  will  you  forgive  me  ?  You  were  only  thoughtless, 
you  know,  and — " 

"  You  want  me  to  think,"  said  Nina,  still  with  very 
red  cheeks,  and  her  head  erect. 

"  "Well,  I  want  you  to  have  principles  of  your  own 
to  go  upon,  and  not  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  any  strange 
woman  with  a  veil  over  her  face  who  asks  you  to  go 
of  an  errand." 

"  Why  must  one  mind  other  people  ?  "  asked  Nina. 
"  Obedience,  indeed !  it  is  nothing  but  obey  all  through 
the  Bible  and  prayer-book,  from  baptism  clear  up  to 
the  marriage  service.  What's  the  reason  of  it,  Mr. 
Deane  ?  I  can  see  the  reason  of  things  in  chemistry, 
and  why  a  triangle  can  have  only  one  right  angle — 

"  Well,  why  ?  "  said  Cyril. 

"  Because  if  it  had  two  you  could  not  get  the  sides 
together,  said  Nina. 


FREE  WILL  AND  TRIANGLES.  27 

"  If  it  had  two  right  angles  it  would  be  three  sides 
of  a  parallelogram,  and  not  a  triangle  at  all,"  said  Cyril. 
"  Did  you  ever  think,  Miss  Nina,  that  a  triangle  is 
really  part  of  a  circle  ?  " 

"  Nonsense ! " 

"  Think  it  over,  and  you  will  see  for  yourself.  You 
cannot  make  an  angle  that  is  not  measured  by  degrees. 
Now,  what  are  degrees  reckoned  upon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  "  cried  Nina ;  "  upon  the  circumference 
of  a  circle,  of  course." 

"  And  every  triangle  is  some  part  of  a  section  of  a 
circle,"  he  said.  "  You  can  not  draw  a  triangle,  but  what 
I  can  draw  a  circle  to  include,  measure,  and  name  it." 

"  /  judge  by  my  eye,"  said  Nina. 

"  Exactly.  I  was  coming  to  that.  You  judge  by 
your  eye  because  it  has  come  down  to  you  as  a  tradition ; 
but  the  difference  between  right-angled  triangles  and 
other  kinds  was  originally  measured,  and  may  still  be 
measured,  upon  the  circumference  of  a  circle.  Now, 
Miss  Nina,  it  is  just  so  with  obedience.  We  can  choose 
whom  to  obey,  and  how  to  do  it,  but  obey  we  must. 
There  is  not  a  single  act  of  our  lives  that  is  not  measured 
upon  the  circumference  of  the  great  circle  of  law." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I've  heard  people  talk  about  free 
will,"  said  Nina  rebelliously. 

"  Heard  of  it  ?  Yes  ;  it's  easier  to  hear  of  it  than  to 
have  it,  let  me  tell  you.  Miss  Nina,  why  did  you  obey 
the  lady  in  black  ?  " 

"  I  didn't ! " 


28  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  You  did  as  she  told  you." 

"Because  I  wanted  to.  But  it's  very  mean  of  you  to 
talk  about  it ;  you  know  I'm  sorry,  and  ashamed  too." 

"  Dear  child,  if  you  had  free  will,  should  you  let 
any  one  make  you  do  a  thing  you  would  feel  ashamed 
of  afterward  ?  " 

"  But  I  didn't  feel  ashamed  at  the  time." 

"  And  are  you  two  persons,  or  one  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  Half  a  dozen,"  said  Nina. 

"  And  do  you  call  that  Christian  unity  ?  "  he  asked 
drolly.  "  Miss  Nina,  would  not  you  like  to  be  an  indi- 
vidual— a  person  who  can  not  be  divided  or  at  strife 
with  himself  ?  " 

There  was  an  odd  gleam  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she 
looked  up  at  him.  She  understood  what  he  meant 
better  perhaps  than  some  of  my  readers  will  do.  "  What 
I  like  about  you  is  that  you  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  an 
individual,"  she  said.  "  Now,  at  home  they  think  me  a 
child." 

"  You  can  not  be  an  individual  without  being  a  child 
first — yes,  and  last  too  ;  never  more  a  child  then  when 
you  think  yourself  a  woman,  and  never  more  a  woman 
than  when  you  feel  yourself  a  child." 

"  Well,  I'll  think  about  it. — Here  is  the  gate,"  said 
Nina.  "  I'm  not  coming  in ;  I  don't  want  to,  because 
mamma  would  object.  There,  is  that  free  will  ?  " 

"  You  have  the  idea,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Good- 
by,  then ;  I  must  see  the  last  of  you  before  I  ring." 

"  But,  Mr.  Deane— " 


FREE  WILL  AND  TRIANGLES.  £9 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Ought  you  to  mind  her,  and  come  when  she  sends 
for  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes.  You  see,  it's  a  part  of  my  business  to 
go  to  people  who  want  me ;  and,  besides,  I  ought  to 
know  who  it  is  that  has  been  bothering  my  little  sister. 
Eun  away  now,"  he  said  good-humoredly  and  stood 
with  his  finger  on  the  button  of  the  electric  bell  until 
she  had  turned  the  corner  and  disappeared ;  then  he 
pressed  it  gently  and  awaited  further  developments. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BEYOND   THE   GATE. 

THE  wall  was  of  rough  gray  stone  with  a  wide  coping  ; 
it  was  mossy  in  places,  and  many  vines  grew  over  it  in 
rank,  untrained  luxuriance.  Above  it  showed  the  tops 
of  many  trees ;  the  branches  of  some  projecting  into 
the  lane  were  heavy  with  apples  and  late  September 
peaches,  which  ripened  in  as  full  security  as  though 
they  grew  upon  the  mountains  of  Thibet  instead  of  in 
the  suburbs  of  a  large  city.  Opposite  was  a  row  of 
small  houses  swarming  unromantically  with  young 
Afro-Americans,  whom  the  tinkle  of  the  gate-bell 
brought,  as  it  seemed,  by  hundreds  to  their  windows 
and  doors ;  some  even  ventured  to  lean  over  the  fence, 
but  came  no  farther. 

Cyril  looked  around  and  smiled,  then  held  up  a 
coin,  expecting  an  instantaneous  rush;  but,  to  his 
amazement,  there  was  only  a  flutter  among  the  dark 
little  figures,  and  a  stretching  of  the  round,  bright  eyes 
which  seemed  already  to  absorb  all  of  their  faces.  The 
young  man  then  made  a  few  steps  from  the  gate  and 
beckoned. 


BEYOND  THE   GATE.  31 

"  I  say,"  he  called,  "  I've  a  nickel  for  the  boy  or 
girl  that  gets  here  first." 

No  reply,  except  a  simultaneous  flashing  of  white 
teeth  along  the  line.  They  nudged  each  other  and 
whispered,  but  remained  motionless. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ? "  said  Cyril.  "  I  only 
want  to  ask  a  question.  Come,  here's  a  dime  instead 
of  a  nickel." 

This  was  effectual.  A  small  maiden  of  perhaps 
eight  summers,  with  a  clear,  chocolate-brown  skin,  big 
black  eyes,  hair  plaited  in  tight  little  tails  and  tied  with 
red  ribbon,  and  a  frock  of  three-inch  plaid  in  red  and 
blue,  suddenly  threw  open  her  own  particular  gate  and 
came  boldly  across  the  road,  followed  by  a  chorus  of 
"  Come  back,  Libby  !  Nastasia's  comin'." 

"  Whatcher  reckon  I  keer  'bout  Nastasia  ? "  said 
Libby  boldly.  "  Nastasia  can't  do  nothin'  to  me  I  I 
ain't  afeard  of  her." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Cyril ;  "  big  girls  like  you 
needn't  be  afraid  of  any  one,  unless,  of  course,  you  are 
doing  wrong.  Who  is  Nastasia  ?  " 

Libby  looked  up  and  down,  then  put  up  her  small, 
slender,  brown  hand  to  shield  the  disclosure.  "  My 
mammy  says  she's  a  witch,"  she  whispered, "  but  teacher 
at  school,  she  says  they  ain't  no  witches.  Whatchoo 
think  'bout  it,  mister  ?  Is  they  any  witches  ?  " 

"  Xo,  indeed,"  said  Cyril  heartily.  "  And  if  there 
were,  they  could  not  hurt  a  good  little  girl  who  says  her 
prayers  regularly.  Is  Nastasia  a  colored  woman  ?  " 


32  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Libby  nodded.  Her  big  bright  eyes  shone  with 
mingled  awe  and  defiance.  "  Miss  Meta,  she's  a  witch, 
too,"  she  said,  "but  we  all  ain't  skeered  at  her.  She 
can't  hurt  nobody." 

"  And  who  is  Miss  Meta?"  asked  Cyril,  perceiving 
that  it  was  useless  at  present  to  controvert  the  witch 
theory 

"  Miss  Meta  Leonard.  She  ain't  the  madam,  you 
know — tliafs  old  Miss  Shryock — but  she  lives  there. 
She's  a  mejum." 

"  A  me —  You  don't  mean  a  spiritualistic  medium  ?  " 

Libby  nodded  again.  "  That's  her,  up  and  down," 
she  said. 

A  great  wave  of  disgust  came  over  Cyril.  So  that 
was  all  !  To  mesmerize  the  unoffending  principal  and 
lead  Nina  astray  from  the  paths  of  righteousness — 

A  sharp  click  made  him  turn,  to  see  the  gate  stand- 
ing open,  and  within  it  a  woman,  at  sight  of  whom  the 
children  incontinently  vanished.  Even  Libby,  though 
she  stood  her  ground,  grinned  with  terror.  Cyril  caught 
her  small  brown  hand  in  his  left,  while  he  felt  in  his 
pocket  for  the  promised  dime.  "  There,  run  away,"  he 
said,  as  he  slipped  the  tiny  silver  piece  into  her  palm 
and  closed  the  fingers  over  it ;  "  run  away,  Libby,  and 
thank  you  very  much." 

Then,  turning  to  the  woman,  who  had  stood  as  im- 
movable as  a  bronze  statue,  "  I  believe  Miss  Leonard 
sent  for  me  ?  "  he  said. 

Nastasia  stepped  aside  and  allowed  him  to  enter  the 


BE10ND  THE  GATE.  33 

garden.  Had  his  inward  repulsion  from  doing  so  been 
less,  he  might  have  turned  away  ;  but  the  reaction,  the 
inward  protest  against  daring  to  despise  any  fellow- 
creature,  was  immediate,  and  as  strong  as  the  recoil. 
Nevertheless,  his  faculties  were  all  awake  and  his  whole 
nature  on  guard  as  he  stepped  under  the  portal.  She 
had  said  her  errand  was  one  of  life  and  death.  It  re- 
mained to  prove  her  message  a  true  one. 

A  strange  thrill,  almost  a  shudder,  sweeping  over 
him,  made  him  turn  to  find  Nastasia  gazing  on  him 
fixedly.  She  was  a  woman  of  unusual  height,  and  strongly 
muscular.  There  was  not  a  line  of  her  figure  that  was 
beautiful  or  graceful,  and  yet  she  was  not  awkward ; 
for  in  every  movement  there  was  visible  such  strength, 
vigor,  and  energy  as  were  in  themselves  more  than 
either  beauty  or  grace.  Her  skin  was  jet-black  and 
lustrous ;  her  face  indescribably  hideous ;  the  teeth 
were  white,  square,  and  ogrish;  the  eyes  very  large, 
black,  and  burning  under  lowering  brows*  Cyril  could 
not  meet  them  without  a  renewal  of  that  odd  thrill ; 
yet  he  faced  her  calmly,  but  spoke  quickly,  to  break  the 
tension  which  he  felt  rather  than  understood. 

"  Can  I  see  Miss  Leonard  ?  Is  she  ill  ?  "  he  asked  in 
his  sweet,  steady  voice. 

Nastasia  smiled  grimly.  "You  is  de  right  kind," 
she  said.  "  Co'se  you  kin  see  Miss  Meta ;  but  won't  you 
let  ole  Nastasia  look  at  your  han'  first,  young  marster  ?  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Cyril,  smiling,  and  now  quite  at 

his  ease. 

3 


34:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  To  see  what  de  future  hoi's  for  you,  sir." 

"  But  I  had  rather  not  know,"  said  Cyril. 

"  Den  I  won't  tell  you,  sir ;  but  lemme  look,  young 
marster,  for  Gawd's  sake.  I  wants  to  know  myse'f. 
'Tain't  off  en  my  young  mistis  sen's  for  nobody  like  she 
done  fer  you;  an'  de  chile  ain't  got  nobody  to  look 
after  her  but  ole  Nastasia." 

Cyril  flushed  slightly,  but  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
old  woman's  shoulder  and  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes, 
which  were  slightly  above  the  level  of  his  own. 

"Doesn't  God  take  care  of  her?"  he  said.  There 
was  a  half-smile  on  his  lips ;  his  eyes  were  full  of  light ; 
a  strange  buoyancy  thrilled  through  his  young  frame ; 
his  fingers,  his  arm,  tingled,  as  under  his  touch  the 
woman's  powerful  figure  seemed  as  it  were  to  shrink 
together ;  and,  without  urging  her  request  further,  she 
drew  away  from  his  touch,  and  with  drooping  head  led 
the  way  to  the  house. 

The  garden  lay,  as  I  have  said,  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  city,  which,  once  within  the  gate,  might  have 
been  miles  away.  Only  a  subdued  murmur  from  that 
busy  hive  stole  in  among  the  fruit-trees,  the  late  roses, 
and  the  brilliant  autumn  flowers  wherewith  the  quiet 
inclosure  overflowed.  Between  the  square,  old-fashioned 
beds  ran  soft,  grassy  walks ;  here  and  there  the  abun- 
dant green  of  the  flowers,  whose  time  of  bloom  was  past, 
was  illuminated  by  gorgeous  masses  of  chrysanthemums, 
phlox,  or  zinnias;  quite  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
with  only  a  few  yards  of  smooth  green  turf  between  it 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  35 

and  the  opposite  wall,  stood  a  low,  rambling,  two-story 
house,  all  gables,  porches,  and  bay  windows,  and  buried 
to  the  eyebrows  in  clematis  and  coral  honeysuckle. 

There  was  a  strange,  soothing  charm  about  it  all, 
under  which  the  nerves  yet  thrilled  strangely.  All  was 
utterly  still  under  the  declining  afternoon  sun,  save  for 
a  faint  chirp  now  and  then  from  a  stray  bird,  perhaps  in 
preparation  for  its  even-song.  It  was  the  most  silent 
hour  of  the  day ;  only  a  short  time,  and  tree-toad,  frog, 
bird,  and  katydid,  each  in  its  own  way,  would  make 
noise  enough — noise  not  inharmonious  with  the  nature 
about  them ;  but  at  this  hour  all  was  utterly  still. 

Nastasia  silently  led  him  across  the  grass  to  a  short 
flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  porch ;  then,  pulling  open 
the  long,  green  shutters  of  a  casement  window  reaching 
to  the  floor,  she  motioned  him  to  enter,  and  pushed  the 
shutter  to  behind  him. 

Fresh  from  the  afternoon  sunshine  the  young  man 
found  himself  in  almost  total  darkness.  His  hand 
rested  upon  the  glass  of  the  casement,  which  opened  in- 
ward; under  his  feet  was  the  glimmer  of  cool,  white 
matting,  and  here  and  there  dim  shapes  of  chair  or  table 
seemed  but  a  deeper  blackness  within  the  misty,  float- 
ing dark  due  to  his  dazzled  eyes.  He  stood  quite  still, 
waiting  for  clearer  vision. 

There  was  a  rustle,  a  step,  and  out  of  the  blackness 
a  white,  slender  form  gliding  silently  forward  to  meet 
him.  Just  what  he  had  expected  Cyril  could  not  have 
told ;  but  it  was  an  undoubted  relief  when  a  sweet  voice 


36  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

— evidently  the  voice  of  a  lady — said  :  "  This  is  very  kind 
of  you,  Mr.  Deane.  Will  you  not  be  seated  ?  " 

Conventional  enough  in  all  conscience  !  Cyril  drew 
a  short,  quick  sigh  of  relief.  "  Miss  Leonard  ?  "  he  said, 
interrogatively,  extending  his  hand  with  the  true  clerical 
instinct. 

The  hand  he  touched  was  like  a  child's  hand  in  size ; 
and  yet  he  could  never  have  mistaken  it  for  any  but  a 
woman's,  even  in  absolute  darkness.  It  was  soft,  firm, 
and  cool,  with  a  strange  electric  coolness  that  sent 
thrills  and  shocks  vibrating  to  his  very  brain.  With  a 
quick  motion  he  dropped  it  and  pushed  back  the  shutter 
behind  him.  *'  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  I  am  dazzled  by 
the  sun,  and  quite  blind." 

"  I  do  not  fear  the  light,"  said  Meta  Leonard.  She 
stood  quite  still  in  the  flood  of  radiance  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  meet  his,  with  a  faint  smile.  She  was  not  above 
the  medium  height,  and  slenderly  made,  even  shadow- 
like,  yet  with  nothing  of  painful  thinness  about  the 
graceful  lines.  Her  dress  was  what  an  expert  would 
have  called  a  cream-white  tea-gown  of  silk  and  cash- 
mere. Cyril  knew  nothing  of  tea-gowns,  but  he  noted 
the  flow  of  the  graceful  folds,  the  billows  of  silk  above 
the  bosom,  the  droop  of  the  long,  pointed  sleeves  that 
fell  nearly  to  the  hem  of  the  robe,  the  delicacy  of  the 
rare  old  lace  at  neck  and  wrist. 

Over  this  creamy  whiteness  fell  a  flood  of  rippling 
hair  of  a  soft,  wood-brown  color,  which  was  brushed 
away  from  the  blue- veined  temples,  and  caught  together 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  37 

just  at  the  neck  by  a  silver  crescent  set  with  pearls. 
The  face  thus  left  exposed,  save  for  a  few  stray  wavy 
locks  upon  the  forehead,  was  of  that  type  Avhich  Dante 
Kossetti  has  made  immortal ;  spiritual  rather  than  intel- 
lectual ;  sensual  also,  but  with  a  sensuality  transfigured 
and  spiritualized.  There  was  the  broad,  low  brow,  the 
slight  hollowing  of  the  cheek,  the  large,  sweet,  spiritual 
eyes,  the  full  lips,  at  once  pure  and  passionate. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  there  very  still,  with  her 
white  hands  lightly  clasped,  and  let  him  look  his  fill ; 
then  she  smiled,  half  reproachfully,  a  very  sweet,  sad 
smile. 

"  You  see  that  I  mean  no  harm,"  she  said. 

Cyril  flushed  crimson.  "  I — I  beg  your  pardon ;  I 
am  keeping  you  standing,"  he  said. 

With  a  slight,  graceful  movement  Meta  Leonard 
partly  closed  the  shutter,  thus  filling  the  room  with  a 
soft,  pleasant,  greenish  light,  and  motioned  her  guest  to 
a  large,  cool,  wicker  chair,  sinking  herself  into  the  corner 
of  a  cushioned  divan,  in  a  pose  that  no  artist  could  have 
bettered.  And  yet  it  was  absolutely  unstudied ;  there 
was  evidently  about  Meta  Leonard,  despite  her  pictur- 
esque costume,  not  the  barest  shadow  of  effort  or  strain- 
ing after  effect.  Something  of  the  kind  Cyril  would 
have  been  prepared  for,  as  he  now  admitted  to  himself 
with  contrition ;  but  he  could  as  soon  have  suspected  of 
affectation  a  tall,  white  annunciation  lily  as  this  me- 
dium— witch —  What  was  she  ? 

She   sat  leaning  lightly  against  the  linen-covered 


38  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

divan,  her  white  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  his.  The  shadows  had  cleared  away  now  from  the 
room.  He  could  see  that  it  was  white,  cool,  and  restful ; 
the  pictures  hidden  under  misty  veils,  the  furniture  by 
linen  coverings  ;  in  an  alcove  stood  a  marble  statuette 
upon  a  gray  pedestal ;  he  could  see  neither  plainly  in  the 
semi-twilight.  In  the  doorways  hung  portieres  of 
creamy  lace.  The  prevailing  whiteness,  the  hush,  the 
silence  of  the  girl  who  sat  opposite  him,  looking  at  him 
not  boldly,  rather  with  exquisite,  tender  modesty,  af- 
fected the  young  man  strangely.  It  seemed  as  though 
he  were  upon  the  brink  of — what? — whether  joy  or 
sorrow,  he  could  not  tell.  It  required  an  effort  to  speak ; 
and  why  should  he  speak  ?  Was  not  the  charmed  silence 
better. 

"  Let  us  alone.    Time  driveth  onward  fast, 
And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 

Let  us  alone.    What  pleasure  can  we  have 

To  war  with  evil  I    Is  there  any  peace 

In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 

All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 

In  silence  ;  ripen,  fall,  and  cease. 

Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death  or  dreamful  ease. 

"  How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward  stream, 
With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half-dream !  " 

This  was  the  wooing  of  the  day,  the  hour,  and  the 
place  to  Cyril  Deane.  It  was  scarcely  a  temptation ; 
his  sensitive  being  felt  the  charm,  but  the  silence  was 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  39 

not  prolonged  beyond  the  moment  wlien  he  felt  that  an 
effort  to  speak  was  necessary. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Miss  Leonard.  Can  I  be  of  serv- 
ice to  you  ?  " 

The  girl  started,  and  passed  her  hand  over  her 
eyes. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  half  dreamily.  "  I 
think  you  magnetized  me.  No,  no !  not  consciously," 
anticipating  his  protest ;  "  but  I  am  very  sensitive  to 
the  influence  of  every  new  personality,  and  you  are 
very — I  can  hardly  call  you  magnetic,  either,  yet  I  know 
no  other  name  for  it." 

"  I  think  I  should  not  willingly  magnetize  any  one," 
he  said,  smiling. 

"  No  ?  But  that  is  a  pity,  for  your  influence  would  be 
helpful ; "  she  said  simply.  "  Do  you  ever  feel  it,  this 
influence  of  others?  They  come  here  sometimes  be- 
lieving me  an  inspired  prophetess,  believing  in  my  mis- 
sion ;  and  then,  oh,  how  I  believe  in  myself !  what  won- 
ders I  can  do !  But  there  are  others  who  suspect  me, 
who  think  me  an  impostor,  and  with  them  I  can  do 
nothing  at  all." 

"  Not  even  be  the  impostor  they  think  you  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  Yes,  I  can  do  that — at  least 
in  small  matters  requiring  little  preparation.  I  can  not 
make  ready  a  fraud  beforehand  when  I  am  not  under 
their  influence." 

"  Isn't  it  a  pity,"  asked  Cyril  gravely, "  to  be  at  every 
one's  mercy  like  that  ?  " 


40  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Her  beautiful  eyes  opened  widely ;  she  had  evidently 
never  before  looked  at  it  quite  in  that  light.  "  Fritz  scolds 
me  sometimes,"  she  said,  "  when  a  seance  is  unsuccess- 
ful ;  but  then  he  admits  that  if  I  were  less  sensitive  we 
should  not  get  such  results  as  we  sometimes  do." 

"  And  who  is  Fritz  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Fritz  Hermann,  my  father's  cousin,  and  my  dear 
teacher.  It  was  he  who  first  discovered  my  powers,  and 
who  has  developed  and  trained  them." 

"  And  you  are  a — a  medium  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  clairvoyant,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not  work 
with  tables  and  slates,  like  some ;  my  powers  are  subject- 
ive, except  that  I  have  had  wonderful  success  in  ma- 
terialization. You  do  not  believe — do  not  approve — 
What  is  it  ?  "  interrupting  herself  suddenly. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  said. 

"  Ah  !  nor  I,  nor  Fritz,  nor  any  one.  Only  we  hope 
to  understand  some  day." 

"  And  you  have  accomplished  these  materializations 
they  tell  us  of  ?  You  have  seen  the  spirits  in  the  flesh 
again?" 

"  Not  I,"  she  said.  "/  have  never  seen  them.  Oh, 
there  are  some  I  would  give  my  life  to  see  again  ! "  Her 
lip  quivered  like  a  grieved  child's.  She  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands. 

He  sat  looking  at  her,  tenderly,  compassionately. 
Why  she  had  sent  for  him  was  still  dark,  but  he  saw 
that  she  was  in  trouble  ;  and  it  seemed,  in  some  hidden 
way,  a  trouble  that  he  ought  to  understand. 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  41 

"  You  will  see  them  again,"  he  said  at  last. 

The  girl  dropped  her  hands  and  lifted  her  eyes  to 
his,  full  of  tears,  though  the  lips  smiled  and  the  cheeks 
glowed  with  a  sudden  flush.  "  It  depends  upon  you — all 
upon  you,"  she  said. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said  encouragingly.  "  Tell  me.  But  I 
think  it  depends  upon  a  greater  than  I." 

She  paused,  and  looked  at  him  with  parted  lips,  as 
one  half  bewildered.  "  That  is  true,"  she  said — "  greater, 
at  least,  in  some  ways.  But  it  does  not  all  depend  on 
the  mesmerist,  you  know.  Fritz  says  that  the  strongest 
will  sometimes  submits  most  readily  and  makes  the  best 
subject." 

"  Is  it  ever  a  strong  will  afterward  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  Not  toward  the  magnetizer ;  and  if  it  submit  more 
than  once  it  finds  resistance  almost  impossible.  But 
does  that  matter  ?  It  is  for  a  good  end." 

"  I  fear  it  matters  very  much,"  said  Cyril ;  "  as  much 
as  any  other  slavery." 

Her  eyes  fell.  "  Slavery  ?  "  she  said  slowly.  "  It  is 
hardly  slavery,  I  think,  for  I  will  it  also." 

"  You  ?  And  this — your  cousin,  is  he  ? — this  Mr.  Her- 
mann mesmerizes  you  ?  " 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  it  is  no  harm,  and  there  is 
such  good  to  be  gained,  such  knowledge  to  be  won  ! " 

'•'  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  can  you  magnetize  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  "  some  can — not  I.  I  can  quiet 
pain  sometimes,  but  I  have  very  little  mesmeric  power ; 
none  over  myself.  I  am  quite  helpless  alone." 


42  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

A  throb  of  pity  choked  his  speech  for  a  moment. 
"  When  you  lie  in  the  magnetic  sleep,"  he  said,  "  can 
you  waken  unless  he  wills  it  ?  " 

"How  should  I?" 

"  And  can  you  resist  his  will  when  he  bids  you 
sleep  ?  Can  you  easily  disobey  his  orders  at  any  time  ?  " 

"  But  he  is  very  good  to  me,"  she  said ;  "  so  good 
and  gentle.  You  do  not -understand." 

"  And  how  can  I  help  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  she  said,  "  for  I  must  go  back 
to  the  time  when  I  first  knew  Arthur  Lydgate." 

Cyril  did  not  start  nor  change  color ;  not  so  much 
as  an  eyelash  quivered.  On  the  contrary,  his  whole  be- 
ing was  possessed  by  an  absolute  quietude,  and,  as  at 
the  moment  of  his  entering  the  room,  he  waited  for  his 
vision  to  grow  clear.  Only  he  knew  now  wherefore  he 
had  come  to  Fairtown.  Indeed,  there  was  a  thrill  in 
the  girl's  voice  as  she  spoke  his  friend's  name  that 
would  have  betrayed  her  secret  to  the  most  careless. 

"  My  father  was  a  physician,"  she  went  on,  "  of  half 
German  blood ;  he  was  skillful,  too,  in  his  way,  wealthy, 
and  well  known.  We  went  to  Dr.  L}7dgate's  church, 
and  Arthur  and  I  grew  to  know  each  other  very  well. 
When  I  was  sixteen,  and  he  three  years  older,  we  were 
engaged.  Of  course  they  laughed  at  us,  but  no  one 
opposed  it.  Then  my  father  died,  and  we  came  here  to 
this  house  to  live,  and  Fritz  came  from  Germany.  Ar- 
thur was  away  at  college ;  and  I  do  not  know  why,  but 
Fritz  would  not  let  me  tell  him  of  our  studies." 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  43 

"  He  knew  of  them  at  last,"  said  Cyril  sternly. 
"  And — did  he  approve,  Miss  Leonard  ?  " 

"  But  it  was  blind — foolish  ! "  she  cried.  "  He  said 
they  were  devils,  these  spirits— oh,  poor  spirits !— who  long 
so  to  communicate  with  those  they  have  left  behind  !  " 

"  And  so  ?  "  said  Cyril  gently.  She  had  tried  to  de- 
ceive him,  to  conceal  that  point ;  but  he  was  not  afraid 
now.  The  worst  was  told. 

"  And  so  he  gave  me  up,"  she  said  piteously.  "  Fritz 
was  so  good  to  me — he  is  always  kind — but  he  thought 
it  well  for  me ;  I  could  give  my  whole  heart  to  science, 
he  said.  Then  Arthur  died ;  and — listen,  Mr.  Deane — 
I  knew  nothing  even  of  his  illness,  but  in  my  sleep — 
not  trance,  a  sound,  natural  sleep — he  stood  beside  me 
and  called  my  name.  Then  he  said  '  Cyril  Deane.'  I 
had  not  heard  of  you  for  years,  remember  that !  I  did 
not  know  that  your  college  friendship  had  lasted,  that 
you  were  with  him  at  the  seminary,  or  that  you  closed 
his  eyes." 

Cyril  did  not  reply  He  had  known  for  some  mo- 
ments that  Arthur  had  sent  him  to  this  girl. 

"  After  that,"  she  said,  "  I  was  ill  for  a  long,  long 
time,  and  my  power  left  me ;  indeed,  it  has  not  yet  fully 
returned.  But  a  week  ago,  at  a  seance  held  in  this 
house  by  some  others — Fritz  among  them — a  communi- 
cation was  received  from  Arthur,  and  again  he  spoke  of 
you." 

She  had  spoken  brokenly ;  her  breath  came  in  gasps. 
"  They  long  so  to  come  back  to  us ! "  she  said. 


44  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Not  Arthur !  "  said  Cyril. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "Arthur.  But — I  do  not 
know  why — he  could  not  communicate  with  us  fully 
except  through  you,  who,  he  says,  have  rare  powers — 
powers  that  you  do  not  dream  you  possess — " 

"  And  that  is  why  you  sent  for  me  ?  "  he  said  sadly 
and  steadily.  "  Of  life  and  death,  indeed ! " 

"  Then — you  will !  I  shall  see  him — I  shall  touch 
his  hand  !  "  She  had  sprung  to  her  feet ;  her  delicate 
face  glowed.  "  No  one  knows  how  I  love  him ! "  she 
said  brokenly.  "  And  though  I  gave  him  up — I  could 
not  help  that — if  I  forgot  him  partly  while  he  lived, 
even  Fritz  can  not  rob  me  of  him  now." 

She  checked  herself,  faltered — "  Fritz  is  always  kind 
and  good,"  she  said.  "  You — it  is  you  who  will  bring 
him  back  to  me ! " 

He  sat  for  a  moment  with  one  hand  over  his  eyes ; 
for  how  to  find  words  to  answer  this  poor,  wounded  lamb 
— as  he  tenderly  called  her  to  himself — he  could  not 
tell.  There  was  a  battle  to  fight,  too ;  a  strong,  fierce 
impulse  to  seek  out  this  man,  this  Fritz  Hermann, 
and  —  But  Cyril  checked  himself  ;  even  righteous 
indignation  would  not  do  Arthur's  work  and  rescue 
Meta. 

Oh,  to  find  words  that  might  heal  and  not  hurt 
her! 

Then  suddenly  they  came  to  him  : 

"  But  if  Arthur  were  right — he  was  apt  to  be  right, 
you  know — if  these  spirits  were  devils  ;  would  you 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  45 

grieve  him  so — wherever  he  is — as  to  let  one  of  them 
use  his  name,  speak  with  his  voice,  and  wear  his  like- 
ness ?  " 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  next  room,  and  through  the 
lace  portieres  came  a  short,  stout  man,  unmistakably 
German,  with  a  dark,  eager,  smooth-shaved  face,  large 
black,  brilliant  eyes,  wavy,  abundant  jet-black  hair,  high 
color,  and  large,  white,  firm-looking  hands. 

Cyril  rose.  It  was  well  he  had  conquered  his  indig- 
nation, for  this  was  Fritz  Hermann.  Meta  did  not  stir ; 
only  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  dark  face.  "  I  thought 
you  were  there,  Fritz  ;  I  felt  you,"  she  said. 

The  man  looked  annoyed.  "  Of  course  I  was  there," 
he  said  ;  "  it  is  where  I  belong.  Moreover,  this  is  my 
business  as  well  as  yours.  Will  you  come  into  my  study, 
Mr.  Deane?  And,  Meta,  go  to  your  room  and  sleep. 
That  is  best  for  you." 

He  spoke  in  a  deep,  thoroughly  German  voice,  not 
unmusical.  His  enunciation  was  quick  and  clear,  yet 
with  a  marked  accent. 

For  a  moment  Cyril  hesitated,  and  in  that  moment 
Meta  spoke. 

"  Must  I  go,  Fritz  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  sleep.  Let 
me  hear." 

"  Hear  ?  Nonsense !  "  he  said  quickly ;  "  I  will  tell 
you  all  you  wish  to  know." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  for  yet  a  moment,  very  wist- 
fully, then  she  turned,  held  out  her  hand,  and  raised 
her  eyes  to  Cyril's. 


46  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Deane,"  she  said — paused — flushed — 
"  but,  oh  !  I  do  not  want  to  go  away ! "  she  cried. 

Cyril  had  scarcely  been  conscious  how  intensely  he 
had  wished  that  she  should  assert  herself,  until  that 
moment — not  to  have  her  stay  unless  such  were  her  own 
free  pleasure,  but  that  she  should  in  some  way  deliver 
her  soul  out  of  the  snare  of  this  fowler.  And  yet  he 
did  not  feel — he  had  not  had  time  to  think — he  did  not, 
I  say,  feel  that  Hermann's  influence  was  consciously  a 
bad  one.  It  was  not  a  bad  face.  Eager,  reckless  of  con- 
sequences in  the  attainment  of  his  object,  the  man 
might  be,  but  not  wicked  or  cruel ;  and  though  there 
was  vexation  on  his  brow,  it  was  not  unkindly  that  he 
spoke  to  her. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  has  come  to  you,  Meta,  he 
said.  "Look  here  in  my  face." 

It  had  all  passed  in  a  moment ;  the  girl's  hand  was 
still  in  Cyril's  and  her  eyes  raised  to  his.  And  they 
were  very  soft  at  that  moment,  those  brilliant,  changeful 
eyes ;  the  amber  rays  that  sometimes  swept  across  them 
were  all  gone,  and  they  were  a  tender  blue,  soft,  but 
very  strong  and  steady.  His  fingers  closed  more  tightly 
over  hers  with  an  impulse  of  help  and  protection. 

"  Why  should  you  go  unless  you  wish  it  ?  "  he  asked 
in  his  sweet,  gentle  voice,  that  was  yet  so  clear,  so  strong 
and  manly.  "  If  it  is  your  hour  for  sleeping,  I  will 
come  again  to  explain  to  you  why  I  can  not  do  as  you 
wish." 

"  There  is  no  reason  except  that  Fritz  wills  it  so,"  she 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  47 

said.  "  But,  oh  !  you  will  consent — you  can  not  be  so 
cruel !  I  must  see  him  again." 

"  There,"  said  Hermann,  "  you  see  for  yourself,  she 
will  fret  herself  ill  if  she  stays." 

Cyril  turned  upon  him  quickly.  "  Because  she  is 
struggling  against  your  will !  that  is  what  tears  her  to 
pieces.  Once  for  all,  I  will  be  no  party  to  it.  If  she 
goes  I  go  also." 

The  black  eyes  opened  wide  and  blazed  upon  him. 
"  You  will  be  no  party  to  it  ?  "  he  sneered.  "  But  it  is 
your  will  that  makes  her  resist  me,  as  you  know 
very  well — "  He  checked  himself,  and  bit  his  lip. 

"  I  am  on  the  side  of  her  will,  not  of  my  own,"  said 
Cyril  steadily. 

"  Her  will  ?  "    The  man  laughed. 

Cpril  looked  him  steadily,  straight  in  the  eyes. 
"  You  would  scorn  to  rob  her  of  one  poor  penny,"  he 
said,  "  yet  you  do  not  scruple  to  take  away  her  freedom 
— to  make  her  a  slave  !  " 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  uneasily.  "  Non- 
sense ! "  he  said.  "Freedom,  indeed  !  What  is  it  worth 
beside  such  spiritual  development  as  I  have  aided  her  to 
gain  ?  Is  it  not  so,  Meta  ?  " 

"  It  is — it  is,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  You  can  not  fancy 
the  glories  that  have  been  revealed  to  me.  0  Mr. 
Deane,  if  you  would  but  try  !  They  say — the  spirits,  I 
mean — that  your  powers  are  so  wonderful,  even  while 
untrained  and  undeveloped,  that  through  you  they 
could  tell  us — " 


4:8  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"You  see,"  broke  in  Hermann,  "it  is  like  this: 
spirits  are  not  alike,  no  more  than  other  people ;  there 
are  good  and  bad  among  them  as  among  us.  Then, 
some  of  them  manifest  in  one  way,  some  in  another ; 
some  rap  on  tables,  turn  over  furniture,  play  tricks, 
even  injure  one  sometimes.  I  do  not  know  if  it  is  be- 
cause they  are  mischievous,  or  if  they  can  not  always 
control  their  own  power." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Cyril ;  "  it  is  the  way  with  that 
sort  of  thing ;  but  perhaps  they  are  mischievous  also. 
At  all  events,  I  prefer — " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Hermann  hastily.  "  You  pre- 
fer to  have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  therefore  you  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  We  attract  to  ourselves 
only  those  spirits  like  ourselves.  Now,  your  friend,  this 
Arthur,  he  was  very  pure,  very  upright,  and  good.  Is  it 
not  so?" 

Cyril  grew  a  shade  paler  and  bit  his  lip,  as  he  bowed 
mutely.  It  was  sacrilege  to  hear  Arthur's  name  so  men- 
tioned ;  it  was  torture  to  him ;  but  there  was  a  subtle 
danger  in  the  air  which  he  felt  without  understanding, 
and  his  only  safety  lay  in  absolute,  thorough  self-control. 
It  is  only  when  Conscience  slackens  her  hold  upon  the 
will  that  the  loosened  reins  can  be  seized  by  another  hand. 

The  quick  black  eyes  read  him  through  instantly. 
"Ah,  he  was  a  little  god  to  you,  this  Arthur!  You 
think  it  profanation  that  he  should  speak  through  a 
slate  and  a  splinter  of  pencil ;  but  be  calm,  my  friend ; 
it  is  not  so.  We  use  not  these.  It  is  a  friend  of  his 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  49 

who  brings  this  message.  Arthur  but  wishes  to  com- 
municate with  us,  with  the  Meta,  here ;  and  he  can  do 
so  only  through  you.  He  has  messages  for  his  father, 
too.  Ah,  it  is  much  that  Arthur  can  tell  us  of  the 
spirit  world — the  world  of  the  pure  spirits.  You  also, 
my  friend — you  wish  to  learn  the  certainty  of  what  you 
believe.  No?" 

"  Do  you  think  it  can  be  learned  by  means  of  a  slate 
and  a  bit  of  pencil,  or  even  through  a  materialized 
human  spirit  ?  "  asked  Cyril,  smiling. 

"  But  why  not  ?  Gold  and  ivory  are  no  more  than 
mere  matter ;  and  a  good  spirit  he  can  not  lie.  These 
things  are  all  very  equal  when  viewed  from  the  fourth 
dimension,  my  friend." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  Mr.  Hermann." 

"  Then  what  do  you  doubt  ? — for  it  is  rock-like,  this 
will  of  yours.  I  can  not  sway  it  this  way,  that  way,  as 
the  will  of  other  men."  He  paused  a  moment,  then 
broke  out  afresh.  "-4Z-so,  I  can  move  you  not  even  by 
com-plee-ment !  So  !  what  do  you  doubt  ?  " 

Cyril  smiled.  "My  own  powers  of  argument,"  he 
said.  He  had  long  ago  put  Meta  into  a  great  chair, 
upon  the  back  of  which  one  hand  rested  as  he  stood  be- 
side her,  with  an  indefinite  but  very  strong  feeling  of 
being  on  guard. 

Now,  glancing  down  at  her,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
upon  him  with  the  soft,  trusting  look  of  a  little  child ; 
her  cheeks  were  flushed  ever  so  faintly,  and  her  lips 
parted  in  a  tender  little  smile. 


50  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Such  a  look  on  such  a  face!  For  a  moment  the 
young  man's  brain  whirled  giddily ;  the  next  he  had 
pulled  himself  together  to  find  Fritz  Hermann  watching 
him  steadily  with  a  look  which  Cyril  found  it  impossible 
to  analyze.  Was  there  in  it  any  of  the  exultation  of 
one  who  has  found  an  enemy's  weak  point  ?  or  the  per- 
plexity of  him  who  knows  not  how  best  to  use  the  new 
weapon  Fate  has  put  into  his  hand  ?  Cyril  could  not  tell. 

"  Why,  as  for  argument — that !  "  said  Hermann,  wav- 
ing it  away  with  his  strong  white  hands.  "  It  is  experi- 
ment, demonstration,  we  offer  you.  But  perhaps  you 
fear  such  tests.  No  ?  You  do  not  willingly  incur  the 
danger  of  proving  your  faith  untrue.  Not  so  ?  " 

"Understand  clearly,  Mr.  Hermann,"  said  Cyril, 
quietly,  "that  such  considerations  influence  me  not  a 
hair's  breadth.  My  faith  can  not  possibly  be  tested  by 
any  such  experiments ;  its  truth  or  falsehood — for  I  am 
liable  to  error,  more  so,  perhaps,  than  other  men — can 
be  proved  or  disproved  by  no  demonstrations  you  can 
offer  me." 

"  So  ?    Then  you  accept  blindly—" 

"  By  no  means." 

Hermann  shrugged  his  shoulders,  this  time  scorn- 
fully. "  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  you  have  still  some  method 
of  making  what  you  believe  credible  to  yourself  ?  " 

"  As  it  is  incredible  to  you  ?  " 

The  man  laughed.  "Why — parts  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  Me  ?  Yes,  it  is  spiritualism  that  is  my  refuge  from 
materialism  when  I  doubt  the  Bible  revelation ;  not  the 


BEYOND  THE  GATE.  51 

Bible  itself,  see  you — that  is,  not  all  of  it.  There  is  very 
good  spiritualism  in  the  Bible." 

"And  do  all  spiritualists  think  alike  about  these 
matters  ?  " 

"  Do  all  Christians  ?  But  there  are  very  good  Chris- 
tians, indeed,  among  spiritualists — Christians  who  be- 
lieve all,  as  you  do." 

"  I  fear  you  are  wrong,"  said  Cyril. 

"  So  ?  But  ask  the  Meta.  She  is  a  Christian,  and 
Christian  spirits  speak  through  her." 

Cyril  glanced  down,  gently,  gravely,  and  met  the 
sweet  eyes  once  more. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said.  "  I  go  to  church,  too,  some- 
times." 

"  Not  often  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  No,  not  often,"  she  answered  a  little  reluctantly. 
"  You  see,  I  have  gone  beyond  them  so  very  far.  I  be- 
lieve more  than  they — far  more,  not  less." 

"  Not  less  ?  nothing  less  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  down 
at  her  steadily. 

"  Ah,  perhaps.  There  is  the  resurrection  of  the  dead, 
you  know  :  it  is  not  worth  while  to  believe  in  that.  One 
can  not ;  our  belief  is  so  very  far  more  glorious." 

He  stood  there  very  quietly,  still  looking  down  upon 
her.  All  the  amber  light  flowed  back  into  his  eyes,  but 
his  lips  were  grave. 

"  You  believe  in  the  materialization  of  spirits,"  he 
said,  "but  not  in  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,"  and 
put  out  his  hand  for  hers.  "  Good-by." 


52  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

She  did  not  answer  or  again  urge  that  wild  petition 
upon  him ;  but  her  eyes  grew  sad.  "  You  will  come 
again  ?  "  she  asked  wistfully. 

"  Arthur  loves  you,"  said  Cyril.  "  I  will  surely  come 
again." 

He  passed  Fritz  Hermann  with  a  bow,  and  left  her 
in  that  dark  keeping.  His  heart  was  very  tender  over 
her,  and  there  was  a  mist  before  his  eyes  as  he  made  his 
way  through  the  grassy  paths.  Near  the  gate  stood  old 
Nastasia,  tall,  gr.im,  and  hideous,  but  with  a  very  human 
light  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  them  upon  him.  He 
held  out  his  hand  to  her  impulsively.  "  Take  care  of 
her,"  he  said. 

"  'Deed  an'  'deedy,  marster,  but  I  does  try,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "  It's  dat  debbil  of  a  Fritz  Hermann  dat  won't 
let  nobody  come  near  her  sca'cely  less'n  she's  asleep. 
But  he  don't  meddle  wid  me  much.  I'm  a  voodoo,  mars- 
ter, I  is,  an'  so  was  my  mammy,  /ain't  'feard  o'  dem  no- 
'count  sperits  o'  deirn,  no  way.  I  can't  witch  him,  dough, 
no  more'n  he  kin  me ;  so  we  let's  each  oder  alone." 

"If —  Oh,  he  will  not  harm  her — he  means  no 
harm !  "  said  Cyril ;  "  and  I  shall  soon  come  again.  But 
if  you  need  me  you  know  where  to  find  me  ?  " 

"  Ef  I  don't,  dere's  dem  dat  does,"  said  the  woman 
significantly.  "  Ole  Nastasia  kin  fin'  am/body,  marster 
— anybody,  'live  or  daid." 

Then  the  gate  closed,  and  the  strange  house  in  the 
fair  garden  lay  behind  him,  like  a  vision  in  the  night  of 
another  world  than  ours. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

"  CONJURED  !  " 

IN  the  shadowy  room  that  Cyril  had  left,  Fritz 
Hermann  looked  down  upon  the  girl  before  him  with 
an  odd  expression  compounded  of  perplexity,  vexation, 
and  fondness. 

"What  has  come  to  you,  Meta?"  he  said.  "Do  I 
ever  influence  you  save  for  your  own  good  ?  Yet  how, 
this  day,  you  have  set  me  at  defiance  ! " 

"Indeed,  dear  Fritz,  I  did  not  mean  it,"  she  said 
timidly. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  slowly ;  *'  therefore  am  I  the  more 
perplexed.  Well,  it  is  your  loss.  If  you  had  said  the 
words  I  was  willing  you  to  say  beyond  there,"  waving 
his  hand  toward  his  "  study  "  as  he  called  it,  "  then  had 
you  gained  what  you  wish.  As  it  is,  you  have  lost  him, 
girl — you  have  lost  more  than  you  dream." 

"  I  have  lost  Arthur,"  she  said  with  a  quivering  lip. 

"  You  ?  "  he  said  not  unkindly,  yet  with  some  con- 
tempt. "  You  ?  If  that  were  all !  Moreover,  if  Arthur 
wishes  to  communicate  with  you,  he  can  find  means  to 
do  so.  But  science — truth — has  lost  Cyril  Deane." 

"  You  think  so  well  of  his  spiritual  powers  ?  " 


54  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  I  have  seen  him  often  in  these  few  months,"  said 
the  man  musingly ;  "  I  have  watched  him  in  the  street 
and  in  his  church.  I  have  seen  dogs  cease  fighting,  chil- 
dren put  by  their  quarrels,  at  his  word.  I  have  heard 
him  preach ;  I  have  seen  him  magnetize  a  whole  con- 
gregation into  believing  his  creed — unconsciously  mag- 
netize them — even  as  he  magnetized  you  this  day,  child 
Meta." 

"  Bid  those  people  lose  their  hold  on  what  he  taught 
them  when  the  sermon  was  over  ?  "  asked  Meta. 

"  Possibly — probably.     How  know  I  ?  " 

"  Because,"  she  answered  thoughtfully,  "  I  think 
this  power  of  his  is  not  quite  magnetism,  Fritz.  I  can 
not  explain,  but  so  it  is." 

"  Not  quite  magnetism  ! "  he  said,  laughing.  "  How 
very  scientific,  child  Meta !  But  it  is  magnetism  of  a 
high  order  and  rare  purity." 

"There  is  a  difference,"  she  insisted.  "You,  for 
example,  there  in  the  study  were  telling  me  what  to  say ; 
but  I  told  him  things  he  did  not  know." 

"  Ay,  but  in  the  way  that  he  wished  to  hear 
them  ! " 

"  It  was  the  way  of  truth,"  she  replied. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Truth  had  gained  by 
a  little  falsehood  on  this  occasion,"  he  said.  "  But,  once 
again,  what  has  come  to  you,  Meta,  that  you  so  dispute 
with  me?" 

"  Are  you  angry,  Fritz  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  he  said,  smiling,  and  patting  her  pale 


" CONJURED ! "  55 

cheek  with  his  hand  ;  "  no,  only  you  must  not  oppose  me 
too  far." 

He  looked  down  at  her  smilingly  for  a  minute  as 
she  sat,  so  frail,  white,  and  shadow-like,  in  the  great 
arm-chair  where  Cyril  had  placed  her.  He  remembered 
his  first  coming  to  Fairtown  ;  how  full  of  life  she  had 
been  then,  of  abounding  health  and  animal  vitality. 
But  there  was  no  remorse  at  his  heart  for  the  change  he 
had  wrought ;  it  was  simply  the  grosser  parts  of  her 
nature  that  had  been  cleared  away,  that  had  vanished 
in  the  development  of  the  spiritual.  She  was  not  ill ; 
it  was  true  that  she  had  been  so,  but  the  cause  of  that 
was  the  death  of  her  lover — not  his,  Fritz  Hermann's, 
teaching  and  training.  From  the  time  of  his  coming 
to  the  house,  how  gentle,  how  docile  she  had  been  !  how 
eager  to  learn !  The  affection  for  Arthur,  which  it 
had  been  necessary  to  overcome,  could  have  been,  he 
thought,  but  a  mere  girlish  fancy,  which  he  had  of  late 
revived  in  her  mind  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  through 
it  an  influence  over  Cyril  Deane.  The  dream  of  which 
she  had  told  Cyril,  that  he  could  not  account  for ;  he 
had  thought  her  altogether  the  creature  of  his  will — 
sleeping,  waking,  at  his  command,  living  his  life,  think- 
ing his  thoughts.  Yet  he  could  look  any  one  in  the  face, 
and  say  with  truth  that  he  had  used  his  power  only  for 
her  good  as  he  understood  it.  She  spoke  his  thoughts 
when  he  willed  to  put  them  into  her  mind,  but  they  were 
not  evil  thoughts ;  she  did  his  bidding,  but  he  had  never 
bidden  her  to  do  aught  that  to  him  was  evil. 


56  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

The  long,  slow  growth  of  this  influence  had  but 
made  it  more  powerful  over  her  whole  nature ;  but  it 
came  this  afternoon  to  Fritz  Hermann  almost  as  a  reve- 
lation that  he  did  not  know  what  that  nature  was. 
He  knew  Meta  Leonard  as  he  had  made  her  ;  but  what 
she  would  have  become  had  he  never  crossed  her  path, 
that,  it  occurred  to  him,  for  the  first  time,  to  wonder. 

And  the  wonder  suddenly  touched  her  with  a  strange, 
new  charm.  "  Child  Meta,"  he  had  called  her,  but 
she  was  a  child  to  him  no  longer.  "  You  must  not  op- 
pose me  too  far,"  he  said,  smiling,  but  there  was  a 
distinct  pleasure  in  her  power  to  oppose  him  at  all. 

"  I  should  be  ungrateful  to  oppose  you,  Fritz,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  I  did  not  do  so  consciously  this  afternoon ; 
it  was  rather  as  if  I  lost  sight  of  you  at  times — " 

"  It  was  his  influence  that  superseded  mine,"  he 
said,  frowning  slightly. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  But,  if  so,  it 
was  very  unlike  your  influence— as  unlike  it  as  a  fetter 
that  drags  down  is  to  a  rope  that  draws  ashore  the 
wrecked  sailor." 

"So?"  he  said,  too  hurt  and  amazed  to  be  indig- 
nant. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  wound  you,"  she  went  on,  quick- 
ly understanding  him.  "  You  do  not  mean  it  so,  and, 
after  all,  it  was  a  bad  comparison.  For  the  rope  draws, 
pulls,  it  might  even  hurt,  you  know ;  but  his  influence 
could  never  hurt.  I  did  not  feel  it  as  an  influence  at  all. 
It  was  rather  that  I  had  freedom,  power,  to  be  myself ; 


"CONJURED!"  57 

to  speak  my  own  thoughts,  Fritz — not  yours  or  his.  I  so 
seldom  speak  my  own  thoughts  !  " 

"  A  medium — what  need  has  a  medium  for  thoughts 
of  her  own?"  he  said.  "This  will  never  do,  Meta; 
your  personality  must  be  naught  but  a  mere  transpar- 
ency, through  which  the  spirits  can  manifest.  You  have 
been  too  absorbed  in  yourself  of  late,  and  this  is  why 
you  have  lost  your  power ;  but  I  permitted  it,  hoping 
through  your  love  for  this  Arthur  to  attract  to  us 
Arthur's  friend.  This  must  be  set  right." 

"You  will  force  me  to  forget  him?"  she  cried, 
springing  to  her  feet.  Her  hands  were  clasped  entreat- 
ingly,  her  beautiful  eyes  were  full  of  tears ;  but  the  man 
looked  coolly  at  his  watch  before  he  replied. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  said.  "  See,  I  am  already  late  for  my 
appointment.  Go  you  and  eat,  then  go  to  your  room 
and  sleep  soundly.  Eemember,  and  obey  me." 

He  hesitated,  then  touched  her  soft  cheek  with  his 
dark  lips.  "  Thou  art  a  good  child,"  he  said  in  his  na- 
tive language,  "  only  thou  must  always  obey." 

Then  he  went  away,  after  a  swift,  relentless  fashion 
that  he  had,  without  pausing  or  looking  back  to  see  if 
his  orders  were  obeyed.  It  did  not  even  come  into  his 
mind  that  Meta  would  be  able  unsupported  to  set  him 
at  defiance ;  therefore  he  did  not  deliberately  concen- 
trate his  will  upon  hers.  And,  after  all,  what  did  it 
matter  ?  She  was  his,  his  bond-slave ;  it  would  be  easy 
enough  to  re-establish  his  influence  more  strongly  than 
ever  ;  but  perhaps  it  had  better  be  done  without  alarm- 


58  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

ing  her.  Silly  child,  to  be  so  easily  impressible!  It 
would  have  been  better,  after  all,  had  he  seen  this  Cyril 
alone,  and,  taking  him  unaware,  subjected  his  will  to  that 
of  Fritz  Hermann  ! 

It  was  already  growing  dark  outside ;  Meta  felt  no 
inclination  to  leave  the  cool  twilight,  and  this  new 
power  over  her  own  thoughts,  even  for  the  happiest 
dreams.  She  heard  the  gate  clang  faintly  in  the  distance. 
Fritz  was  gone.  She  flung  the  shutters  wide  apart,  and 
stood  thirstily  drinking  in  the  cool  evening  air. 

"  My  lamb  !  " 

Old  Nastasia  stood  beside  her,  looking  down  with 
anxious  affection  upon  the  beautiful,  fragile  form.  "  My 
lamb,  did  you  git  yo'  wish  from  de  young  marster  wid  de 
angel  face  ?  Tell  ole  mammy." 

Meta  smiled  dreamily.  "Has  he  an  angel  face?" 
she  said.  No,  mammy,  he  will  not  promise ;  he  says  it 
would  not  be  Arthur  whom  I  should  see,  but  a  devil  in 
his  likeness." 

"An'  dat's  de  Lawd's  trufe,"  said  the  old  woman 
emphatically. 

Meta  opened  her  eyes  very  wide. 

"  You,  too  ! "  she  said. 

"Yes,  me  too,  honey.  I'se  a  voodoo — leastways  I 
useter  be — and  I  knows.  It's  de  debbil  sho',  dat's  at  de 
bottom  of  all  dishyer  foolishness.  Ole  Nastasia  nebber 
did  hab  no  use  for  no  sich  doin's." 

Meta  smiled.  "You  do  not  quite  understand  us, 
mammy,"  she  said.  "It  isn't  magic,  you  know;  and 


"CONJURED!"  59 

some  of  the  things  the  spirits  tell  us  about  the  other 
world  show  that  they  are  not  devils.  Would  a  devil 
advise  one  to  go  to  church,  to  the  holy  communion,  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  old  woman  ;  "  mighty  strong 
chu'ch  ef  de  debbil  can't  git  in  dar  too  !  Don't  talk  to 
?ne,  chile.  What  I  knows,  I  knows.  Ain't  I  seen  you 
a-dwindlin'  like,  twell  f  om  de  stronges'  and  bes'  an' 
peartes'  baby  I  ebber  nussed — "  Her  voice  failed  for  a 
moment.  "  Is  dat  ar  de  wuk  o'  de  good  Lawd  ?  "  she 
asked  indignantly. 

"  It  is  the  work  of  the  spirits,  of  course,"  said  Meta 
absently.  "  Such  a  life  as  mine  wears  upon  one  phys- 
ically, and  that  is  why  Fritz  likes  me  to  sleep  so  much. 
I  ought  to  be  asleep  now,  Mammy  Nastasia." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  to  sleep  ?  '"' 

"  To  eat  first,  and  then  sleep." 

"  Well,  'tain't  supper-time  yit,  an'  I  don't  keer  much 
about  you  eatin'  'tween  meals.  I  ain't  nebber  let  you  do 
it  when  you  was  little,  an'  you  been  doin'  mighty  little 
eatin'  here  lately,  anyhow.  Is  you  seen  ole  Miss  an' 
Marse  Hugh  to-day  ?  " 

Meta  shook  her  head,  then  suddenly  a  shiver  ran 
over  her  ;  she  turned  and  laid  her  arms  around  the  old 
woman's  neck.  "  Mammy,"  she  whispered,  "  he  makes 
me  forget  them,  even  Hugh,  my  little  Hugh,  whom  his 
dying  mother  put  into  my  arms.  He  has  made  me  for- 
get Arthur ;  he  says  he  will  make  me  forget  him 
again ! " 


60  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Ain't  I  done  tole  you  de  debbil  was  in  it  ?  "  asked 
the  old  woman.  "  Don't  talk  to  me,  honey ;  I  knows  him, 
I  does,  f'om  de  tip  o'  his  horns  plumb  down  to  de  een' 
o'  his  tail." 

She  held  the  drooping  form  in  her  strong  arms  ;  she 
bent  her  grim  and  hideous  face  above  the  pale  brow 
veiled  in  its  floating  hair.  "Listen  to  me,  chile," 
she  said.  "  You  know  I  was  a  voodoo  once,  an'  so  was 
my  mammy  before  me.  Debbils !  she  could  raise  all  de 
debbils  in  wat's  'is  name  !  An'  she  learned  ine-  all  she 
knowed — not  to  say  dat  a  voodoo  can  be  learned,  'case 
it's  got  to  be  borned  in  'em.  But  yit  dey  is  ways  o' 
makin'  'intments  an'  powders  an'  sich,  and  a  'quaint- 
ance  wid  yarbs,  some  on  'em  good  an'  some  bad,  an'  dem 
kin  be  learned.  So  my  mammy  she  died,  an'  de  niggas 
was  skeered  as  bad  o'  me  as  dey  useter  be  o'  her.  Right 
on  dishyer  place  dey  useter  come  arter  me ;  and  out  in 
de  woods,  on  top  o'  dat  hill  where  dey  jess  begun  to  buiP 
dat  new  chu'ch,  was  whar  I  useter  conjure  for  'em  at 
de  new  moon.  "Well !  'bout  dat  time  me  an'  Stephen 
got  married.  You  'member  Stephen,  don't  you,  honey  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Meta.  She  had  dropped  into  her  chair 
at  the  beginning  of  the  story,  and  Nastasia  sat  crouched 
together,  in  the  very  attitude  of  her  savage  ancestors,  on 
the  ground  at  her  feet.  "  Yes,  I  remember  Stephen  ; 
he  used  to  carry  me  on  his  back  and  sing  such  sweet 
hymns  ;  and  he  played,  oh,  so  sweetly,  on  the  violin ! " 

"  Cat's  so,"  said  Nastasia,  "  dat's  de  Lawd's  trufe, 
honey.  Dey  was  goin'  to  tu'n  him  outen  de  chu'ch  'count 


"CONJURED!"  61 

o'  dat  fiddle,  on'y  dey  darsent,  when  it  come  to  de  p'int, 
'case  Stephen  was  de  mighties'  exhorter  an'  had  de  pow'- 
f  ulles'  gif '  in  pra'r  ob  any  o'  de  lot.  He  convarted  me, 
Stephen  did,  one  camp-meetin'  time ;  an'  arter  dat  we 
done  got  married.  But  don't  you  know,  Miss  Meta,  dem 
niggas  said  I  mus'  'a'  conjured  him,  or  he  nebber  would 
'a'  married  no  sich  a  Toby-beaten  gal  ?  Toby !  I  could  'a' 
showed  Toby  to  'em  ef  I'd  'a'  wanted  to ;  I'd  'a'  learned 
'em  who  Toby  was  ef  't  hadn't  'a'  been  for  Stephen ;  but 
he  sez  :  '  Nebber  you  min'  'em,  Nastasia ;  de  Lawd  knows, 
and  dat's  enough.' ': 

"  And  did  you  never  do  any  conjuring  after  that  ?  " 
asked  Meta.  "  Not  that  it  was  really  the  devil  that  you 
saw,  Nastasia ;  I  dare  say  it  was  a  spirit  manifestation, 
but  the  spirit  of  a  savage.  A  wild  heathen  African,  per- 
haps a  cannibal,  would  not  be  nice  to  have  dealings 
with.  You  were  quite  right  to  give  it  all  up." 

"  Well,  it  do  beat  all  how  smart  de  chillen  is  growin' 
dese  days !  "  said  Nastasia  sarcastically.  "  'Twan't  de 
debbil,  hey  ?  Den  how  come  I  seed  him,  Miss  Meta  ? 
Come,  now,  you  tell  me  dat !  Yes,  honey,  I  did  do  some 
con j 'in'  arter  dat.  I  done  backslid,  Miss  Meta,  chile. 
Dem  niggas  sassed  me,  an'  I  got  riled,  an'  went  off  inter 
de  woods  to  raise  ole — well,  nebber  min' ;  I  ain't  gwine 
say  his  name  in  dis  house ;  too  many  debbils  roun'  here, 
anyhow ! " 

"  You  raised — whoever  it  was — against  some  one,  to 
harm  him  ?  "  said  Meta.  "  Our  spirits  are  not  like  that, 
mammy.  What  happened  ?  " 


62  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  De  nigga  died ! "  said  Nastasia  solemnly.  "  Yes,  my 
Lawd — died,  Miss  Meta,  dat  she  did!  Don't  tell  me 
'tain't  de  debbil !  I  knows  him  ! " 

"  But  what  did  Stephen  say  ?  " 

"Stephen  wep'  ober  me,  an'  exhorted  me  pow'ful, 
Miss  Meta,  an'  den  he  rassled  wid  de  Lawd  in  pra'r 
twell  'twould  'a'  broke  a  heart  o'  stone ;  but  it  nebber 
teched  Nastasia,  I  was  dat  col'  an'  keerless  like.  Den 
my  baby  come,  Miss  Meta,  my  onlies'  one  I  ebber  had ; 
an'  de  werry  day  he  up  an'  died,  your  poor  mamma, 
my  Miss  Marg'ret,  dat  I  was  foster-sister  to,  she  up  an' 
died  too ;  an'  ole  miss  took  an'  sont  me  to  nuss  you.  An' 
f 'om  dat  day  to  dis,  honey,  I  ain't  wanted  to  conjure  no- 
body,  bress  de  Lawd !  He  done  took  away  my  heart  o' 
stone,  an'  gimme  a  heart  o'  flesh — praise  his  name  !  So 
dat's  how  Nastasia  knows  all  'bout  it,  honey ;  an'  when 
I  see  folks  a-peekin'  an'  a-pinin'  I  knows  de  debbil's  in 
it  somehow.  Ef  it  hadn't  'a'  been  dat  way,  why  did  de 
Marster  say,  '  Dy  sins  be  firgibben  dee,'  'fore  he  healed 
dat  imp'tent  man  ?  Sho !  don't  talk  to  Nastasia !  An' 
dishyer  keepin'  you  away  f'om  ole  Miss,  yer  nachel- 
bawn  great-gran'ma,  an'  little  Marse  Hugh,  de  sufferin' 
chile  o'  de  Lawd ! — why,  all  dat  is  tarred  wid  de  same 
bresh,  Miss  Meta  ;  it's  cut  right  offen  de  same  piece,  dat 
ar  is.  Ain't  ole  Nastasia  had  sper'ence  'nough  to  know  ? 
Could  I  raise  ole  Wat's-his-name  w'en  I  loved  Stephen, 
or  w'en  I  hel'  my  baby  or  you  in  my  arms  ?  No,  chile ! 
'twas  w'en  my  heart  was  col'  to  Stephen,  'case  I  fought 
dat  oder  gal  done  tuk  a  farncy  to'm  an'  was  gwine  tole 


"  CONJURED ! "  63 

'im  away  f  om  me !  An'  ef  you  was  to  think  much  'bout 
ole  Miss  an'  Marse  Hugh,  you  couldn't  raise  no  sperits 
needer.  You  hear  ole  Nastasia ! " 

Meta  smiled  faintly.  The  old  woman's  words  tallied 
a  little  oddly  with  her  own  experience,  but  she  did  not 
think  they  proved  anything,  for  all  that.  She  had  lived 
a  strange,  lonely  life  for  the  last  five  years.  Fritz  had 
often  sighed  over  the  materialistic  character  of  her  sur- 
roundings, and  would  have  removed  her  from  them  at 
once,  as  he  often  said,  but  for  the  necessity  of  keeping 
terms  with  the  grandmother,  to  whom  the  house  and 
grounds  belonged,  as  well  as  the  money  that  supported 
them  all.  And  Mrs.  Shryock  was  rather  a  difficult  per- 
son to  keep  terms  with.  She  was  willing  enough  that 
Meta  should  give  seances  at  exorbitant  prices,  but  she 
wanted  to  handle  the  proceeds  herself.  Of  course, 
Meta  could  have  more  than  earned  her  own  living  any- 
where ;  but  the  man  revolted  from  so  using  her  powers 
any  further  than  was  necessary  to  placate  Mrs.  Shry- 
ock. He  was  as  really  in  search  of  truth  as  any  man 
can  be  who  has  made  up  his  mind  just  where  and  how 
it  is  to  be  found,  and  the  quaint  old  house  in  its  fra- 
grant garden  was  an  ideal  abode  for  a  truth-seeker.  Mrs. 
Shryock  could  not  live  long,  he  thought,  and  then  it 
would  be  easy  enough  to  dispose  of  Hugh ;  meanwhile 
he  kept  Meta  in  a  half -dreamy  state, 

"  And  lost  to  life  and  use,  to  name  and  fame." 

She  was  not  as  deep  in  his  counsels  as  we ;  she  only 
knew  that  he  thought  it  better  for  the  preservation  of 


64:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

her  powers  to  live  apart  from  the  household.  They 
were  well  taken  care  of,  and  yet  a  sudden,  strange  pang 
shot  through  her  heart  as  she  remembered  how  she  had 
neglected  little  Hugh,  the  last  precious  charge  of  his 
dying  mother,  her  father's  young  wife.  She  sprang  to 
her  feet. 

"Nastasia,"  she  cried,  "where  is  he?  I  want  my 
Hugh,  my  baby !  " 

"  Bress  de  Lawd ! "  said  old  Nastasia. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FELIX    GOLD. 

CYRIL  DEANE,  as  the  quaint  old  gate  clanged  behind 
him  and  he  bent  his  steps  along  the  lane,  felt  strangely 
tired.  "  It  was  rather  a  strain  on  one's  nerves,"  he 
would  have  said  had  he  been  asked  the  cause  of  this 
fatigue ;  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  "  power  had  gone 
out  of  him."  Indeed,  Cyril  Deane  too  rarely  thought 
of  himself  at  all  to  puzzle  over  a  shade  more  or  less  of 
one  feeling  or  another. 

He  walked  homeward  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  How 
cool  his  little  sitting-room  appeared,  with  its  gray  walls, 
nearly  hidden  by  books,  its  deep-arched  window,  the 
cocoa  matting  upon  the  floor,  and  huge  mahogany  and 
hair-cloth  sofa  in  one  corner,  upon  which  he  threw  him- 
self with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  instantly  fell  asleep  ! 

When  he  waked,  refreshed  and  strong  again,  it  was 
quite  dark.  He  sprang  up,  struck  a  light,  and  looking 
at  his  watch  found  that  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock. 

"  Dear  me !  what  a  lazy  fellow  I  am ! "  thought  Cyril. 
There  were  certain  arrangements  to  be  made  in  the 
church  for  the  Sunday  services,  he  remembered;  and 
he  caught  up  a  long  taper  that  stood  in  the  corner,  lit 


66  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

it,  and  opened  a  narrow  door  that  cut  off  one  corner  of 
his  tiny  room  and  led  into  the  church. 

The  Church  of  the  Transfiguration  had  once  stood 
in  a  fashionable  part  of  the  town  and  been  filled  by  a 
wealthy  congregation;  but  that  tide  had  ebbed  away, 
and  for  many  years  it  had  been  chronically  upon  the 
verge  of  being  sold,  and  perpetually  being  rescued  by 
public-spirited  individualism.  Of  late,  Dr.  Lydgate  had 
solved  the  vexed  question  of  "  reaching  the  masses,"  or 
perhaps  the  masses  had  reached  him ;  at  all  events  they 
had  come  together,  and  the  church  overflowed,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  and  often  upon  week-day  occasions,  with 
hard-handed,  earnest-eyed  men,  to  whom  it  was  a  reve- 
lation to  find  that  the  problems  that  vexed,  puzzled,  and 
exasperated  their  daily  lives  had  all  been  solved  cent- 
uries before  by  the  Reformer  of  Nazareth. 

The  young  deacon's  rooms  were  in  the  north  tower ; 
the  vestry  was  at  the  east,  or,  more  correctly,  the  south- 
east corner ;  he  had  therefore  the  whole  length  of  the 
building  to  traverse,  and  as  he  did  so  the  light  of  the 
taper  played  fitfully  here  and  there,  reflecting  itself  in 
stained  glass  or  carved  brass- work,  but,  like  a  half-truth, 
far  too  weak  to  fill  the  place  with  radiance  and  glory. 
Near  the  chancel  a  tablet,  new  and  shining,  had  been 
placed  upon  the  wall  by  his  classmates  at  the  seminary 
in  memory  of  Arthur  Lydgate.  As  the  light  of  the 
taper  caught  and  sparkled  upon  its  smooth  surface, 
carved  lettering,  and  massive  bordering,  Cyril  paused  a 
moment  in  sheer  amaze,  for  it  was  no  thought  of  his 


FELIX   GOLD.  67 

friend  that  had  flashed .  into  his  mind,  but  the  name  of 
Felix  Gold. 

Felix  Gold ! 

He  went  on  into  the  vestry,  wondering.  Where  had 
he  heard  the  name,  or  was  it  a  name  at  all  ?  Perhaps 
merely  the  brightness  of  the  brass  and  the  thought  of 
the  happy  dead  had  suggested  the  collocation. 

In  a  few  moments  he  came  back  into  the  church, 
set  the  taper  in  a  corner,  and  knelt  before  the  altar. 
Now  that  he  had  slept,  and  so  refreshed  his  body,  his 
mind,  heart,  soul — call  it  what  you  like — was  alive  to 
the  strangeness  of  all  that  had  occurred.  He  thrilled 
and  tingled  with  the  wonder  of  it.  Had  he  indeed  been 
sent  hither  by  a  presence  from  the  better  land,  to  aid 
and  protect  this  girl— this  strange,  sad,  beautiful  girl, 
Arthur's  love  ?  Then  he  called  her,  to  himself,  Arthur's 
widow,  and  prayed  for  her  most  fervently. 

That  was  all  he  could  do ;  though  when  he  thought 
of  her  in  the  power  of  Fritz  Hermann  he  could  have 
defied  the  world  in  her  behalf,  and  on  the  instant. 
Poor,  friendless  child ! 

But  no  !  she  was  not  friendless,  and  He  who  for  her 
sake  had  kept  back  Cyril  from  the  work  to  which  he 
had  been  pledged  could  guard  her  now  as  then.  It  did 
not  seem  to  Cyril  a  small  thing  that  he  should  so  have 
been  hindered  for  the  sake  of  a  girl ;  it  was  "  for  her 
sake,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  in  the  phrase  there  lay 
much  meaning. 

It  was  scarcely  prayer  that  now  filled  his  soul,  but  a 


68  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

% 

sweet,  dreamy  rapture,  almost  ecstasy.  He  bowed  his 
head ;  his  eyes  were  closed ;  there  was  a  smile  upon  his 
lips,  though  his  cheek  was  pale.  The  church  was  all  his 
own ;  there  was  no  danger  of  interruption  before  morn- 
ing; yet  he  did  not  consciously  dread  interruption; 
only  this  holy  reverie  was  very  sweet. 

Then  suddenly  there  came  into  his  mind,  as  though 
it  had  been  shouted  in  his  ear,  the  name  of  Nina  Lyd- 
gate.  Poor,  untidy,  awkward  Nina !  Had  he  promised 
to  let  her  know  of  the  mission  to  which  she  had  guided 
him?  He  could  not  remember;  but  at  least  it  was 
what  he  ought  to  do — and  to-night  ?  He  would  see  if  it 
were  too  late  ;  and  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had 
had  no  supper. 

He  picked  up  his  taper  and  returned  to  his  rooms, 
altogether  unconscious  how  for  some  moments  his  feet 
had  stood  at  the  parting  of  two  ways,  and  how  Nina's 
idea  had  saved  him  ere  yet  he  had  gone  astray. 

But  the  question  of  his  going  to  her  that  night  was 
soon  conclusively  settled  by  a  sharp  rap  at  his  outer 
door.  Cyril  put  aside  his  supper  of  bread  and  milk,  and 
hastened  to  unclose  the  heavy  portal. 

"  Bennet  Lane  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  said  the  Eev.  Bennet  Lane,  enter- 
ing quietly  enough  to  all  appearance,  though  a  person 
of  such  overpowering  personality  might  always  just  as 
well  have  blown  a  trumpet  before  him.  Yet,  when  one 
came  to  think  about  it,  he  was  rather  a  small  man,  at 
least  not  above  the  medium  size ;  as  upright  as  a  dart, 


FELIX  GOLD.  69 

and  with  something  of  a  military  bearing ;  with  large, 
luminous  dark  eyes,  and  a  wonderful  smile. 

"  Where  on  earth —  Why,  I  did  not  know  you  were 
in  town ! "  said  Cyril,  shaking  his  friend's  hand  vehe- 
mently. Bennet  Lane  had  been  in  his  last  year  at  the 
seminary  when  Cyril  entered  it ;  but  their  Sunday  work 
had  thrown  them  together — both  belonging  to  the  ex- 
treme High-Church  wing — and  they  had  become  fast 
friends. 

"  In  town  ?  No  more  I  was  until  about  fifteen  minutes 
ago,"  said  Mr.  Lane.  "  Didn't  you  get  my  telegram  ?  " 

"How  on  earth  should  any  one  ever  get  a  tele- 
gram ?  "  asked  Cyril  resignedly.  He  knew  already  that 
his  friend  had  recently  accepted  a  curacy  in  Fairtown 
at  the  most  "advanced"  church  in  the  place,  with  a 
clergy-house  and  large  staff  of  curates ;  but  he  had  now 
to  be  informed  that  the  illness  of  the  rector  of  a  neigh- 
boring parish  had  compelled  him  to  ask  assistance  in  his 
Sunday  services  of  Bennet's  rector-to-be,  who,  finding 
his  present  curates  all  imperatively  engaged,  had  written 
to  ask  whether  the  curate  to  come  had  anything  for  that 
Sunday  that  could  not  be  broken  or  deferred. 

"  And  as  I  only  meant  to  take  a  Sunday  off  before 
beginning  my  new  work,  here  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Lane. 
"  I  should  have  written,  but  only  had  the  rector's  letter 
this  morning." 

"  Well,  the  letter  would  have  reached  me  on  Mon- 
day, whereas  I  shall  never  have  the  telegram/'  said 
Cyril. 


70  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"As  rampant  as  ever  against  private  monopolies,  I 
see,"  said  his  friend.  "  How  is  socialism  ?  " 

"  Very  unsocial.  I  have  not  offered  you  a  mouth- 
ful of  food.  What  will  you  have?  There's  quite  a 
good  eating-house  close  by." 

"  What  have  you  got  for  yourself  ?  "  asked  his  friend. 
"Bread  and  milk?  Just  the  thing;  nothing  I  like 
better." 

"Provided  there's  more  of  it,"  said  Cyril,  catch- 
ing his  hat  up  in  one  hand  and  the  milk-jug  in  the 
other. 

"  You've  quite  a  snug  little  nest  of  it  here,"  said 
Bennet,  when  his  host  returned,  not  unprovided  with 
other  dainties.  "  I've  been  looking  around,  and  really 
I  envy  you.  Everything  your  own  way,  and  so  quiet 
and  uninterrupted." 

Cyril  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It's  better  than  a 
boarding-house,"  he  said ;  "  but  I'm  a  gregarious  animal, 
Lane,  I  take  kindly  to  being  petted  and  done  for. 
Still,  one  can  always  get  the  good  of  one's  circumstances 
if  one  knows  how,  and  it  is  an  excellent  preparation  for 
missionary  life,  I  suppose." 

Mr.  Lane  looked  at  him  sharply.  "  Oh  ! "  he  said, 
"  then  you  have  not  given  up  that  idea  entirely  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Cyril. 

For  some  reason  his  friend  did  not  question  him 
further  on  that  point.  "  Dr.  Lydgate  is  a  pretty  Broad 
Churchman,  isn't  he  ?  "  he  asked,  with  seeming  irrele- 
vance. 


FELIX  GOL1).  71 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  he  is,"  said  Cyril ;  "  at  least,  people 
say  so.  I've  never  seen  anything  objectionable." 

"  Ah !  that's  good.  If  you  were  to  find  yourself, 
now,  obliged  to  take  part  in  union  services,  or  offend 
your  rector — you  see,  that's  what  impressed  me  about 
your  coming  here.  But  I  suppose  he  knows  where  to 
draw  the  line." 

"  We  were  speaking  of  that  the  other  day,"  said 
Cyril.  "  He  says  very  frankly  that  he  is  too  old  and 
broken  to  stand  the  row  that  would  be  made  if  he  were 
to  invite  ministers  of  other  denominations  into  his  pul- 
pit; but  he  preaches  in  theirs  as  often  as  he  gets  a 
chance." 

"  There's  no  harm  at  all  in  that,  taken  by  itself,"  said 
Mr.  Lane,  "  for  he  goes  clothed  with  the  teaching  au- 
thority of  the  Church,  as  her  official  representative ;  but, 
of  course,  if  he  sits  on  a  platform  with  a  Methodist  on 
one  side  and  a  Presbyterian  on  the  other,  he  tacitly  ad- 
mits their  authority  as  equal  to  his  own ;  and  that  is  an 
altogether  different  part  of  speech." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Cyril.  He  played  a  little  nerv- 
ously with  the  crumbs  on  his  plate  for  a  minute,  then 
he  broke  out  as  if  it  were  impossible  to  be  silent. 
"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  lots  of  those  Presbyterian  and 
Methodist  parsons  are  far  and  away  better  men  than 
I  am." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  his  friend,  coolly.  "  I'm  not 
talking  about  the  men  themselves,  but  their  authority 
as  teachers." 


72  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Then  you  don't  recognize  authority  as  a  moral 
quality?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  driving  at." 

"  Why,  the  better  men  they  are,  the  better  they  can 
teach,  don't  it  seem  ?  " 

"  Ordinary  morals,  perhaps ;  but  that  certainly  does 
not  apply  to  the  doctrines  of  the  Church." 

"  And  yet  Christ  says, '  Whoso  willeth  to  do  my  will, 
he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine.' " 

"  Deane,"  said  his  friend,  solemnly,  "  this  is  worse 
than  I  feared.  Do  you  mean  that  you  doubt  the  valid- 
ity of  your  own  orders,  the  significance  of  the  historic 
episcopate — one  of  the  four  points  laid  down  by  the 
Lambeth  pastoral  as  '  a  basis  of  unity '  ?  " 

"  Now,  in  the  first  place,"  said  Cyril,  "  is  the  Lam- 
beth pastoral  binding  upon  anybody's  conscience  ?  " 

"Well,  no;  certainly  not  that!"  said  Mr.  Lane; 
"  but  it  is  worthy  of  attention — " 

"  Wherever  we  happen  to  agree  with  it,"  said  Cyril. 
"In  the  second  place,  Lane,  I'm  only  a  deacon,  you 
know ;  and  the  validity  of  my  orders—  Why,  I'm  a  mere 
layman,  as  you  know." 

"  That  is  simply  a  quibble,"  said  his  friend,  "  and  this 
is  not  a  subject  for  jesting.  Deane,  for  God's  sake,  don't 
go  astray  on  this  point !  I  tell  you  it  is  a  critical  period 
with  us.  The  Church  is  on  trial  for  her  life ;  and  her 
very  existence  depends  on  the  fidelity  of  her  children." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Lane,"  said  Cyril,  "  the  point 
you  have  raised  is  not  one  upon  which  I  have  thought 


FELIX  GOLD.  73 

very  deeply.  As  you  know,  I  was  born  and  brought  up 
in  the  Church,  and  I  have  never  gone  much  outside  for 
friends  or  interests ;  but  it  does  seem  to  me  that,  if 
the  existence  of  the  Church  is  at  stake,  something  of 
a  different  nature  from  documentary  evidence  will  be 
necessary  to  save  it." 

"  Documentary  evidence  ?  " 

" '  Genealogies  and  strifes,'  "  said  Cyril.  "  If  we  are 
the  legitimate  descendants  of  the  apostles,  don't  you 
believe  that  blood  will  tell  ?  Need  we  go  around  with 
our  ancestry  written  on  our  foreheads  ?  " 

"  Deane,  this  is  worse  than  I  supposed.  I  feared 
you  were  tainted,  but  did  not  dream  how  deep  it  had 
gone ! " 

"  My  dear  fellow — " 

"  One  moment,  Deane.  I  assure  you  that  if  you 
could  realize  the  pain  you  give  me  you  would  speak  less 
lightly.  This  point — the  authority  of  the  sacred  minis- 
try— is  at  this  very  moment  that  upon  which  the  forces 
of  hell  are  directing  their  attacks — " 

"  But  are  you  sure  they  are  the  forces  of  hell,  dear 
boy  ?  No,  no ;  don't  be  offended,  and  don't  think  me  a 
deliberate  reprobate.  I  assur*  you  that,  as  I  said  before, 
I  have  scarcely  thought  five  minutes  on  this  subject  in 
my  whole  life." 

"  Then  how  could  you  take  orders  ?  " 

"  Because  it  seemed  the  only  way  to  the  work  I  had 
planned  for  myself.  Oh,  no  doubt  it  was  wrong  of  me, 
but,  you  see,  I  was  interested  in  more  practical  matters 


74:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

— socialism,  for  instance,  and  the  Christian  Social 
Union.  And  when  I  say  I  haven't  thought  about  this 
question,  that  doesn't  mean  I  haven't  read  about  it; 
for,  of  course,  one  has  to  get  it  up,  like  everything  else. 
But  I  don't  believe  I  wanted  to  think  about  it  very 
much ;  it  seemed  to  me  a  question  to  which  I  could  not 
say  Yes,  and  did  not  want  to  say  No.  For  you  see, 
Lane,  that  apostolic  succession,  in  the  sense  in  which 
we  use  it,  and  socialism,  are — " 

"  0  Deane,  Deane  ! " 

"  — Alike  a  matter  of  genealogies,"  said  Cyril.  "  But 
this  is  all  your  own  fault,  you  know ;  you  forced  the 
matter  upon  me  for  decision." 

"And  you  decide  to  be  a  traitor  to  your  mother 
Church  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  decide  yet"  said  Cyril, 
coolly ;  "  but  you  have  aroused  me  to  the  fact  that  some 
decision  must  be  come  to.  Thank  you  for  it,  very  much 
indeed.  It  may  have  been  cowardly  to  put  it  off  so  long, 
but  I  only  meant  to  be  loyal." 

"  Perhaps  this  may  assist  you,"  said  Bennet  Lane, 
taking  a  small  handbill  from  his  pocket.  "  This  was 
given  me  in  the  depot,  probably  because  of  my  coat. 
However,  if  it  were  meant  as  an  insult,  it  missed  its 
mark  ;  but  it  will  serve  to  prove  to  you  into  what  vaga- 
ries a  man  may  wander  when  once  the  guiding  hand  of 
the  Church  is  removed." 

And  this  is  what  Cyril  read : 


FELIX  GOLD.  75 

ATTENTION ! 

To  ROMAN  CATHOLICS,  GREEK  CATHOLICS,  AND  ALL  OTHER 
DENOMINATIONS. 

THE  NIXETEENTII-CENTURY  MISSION 

is  now  open  for  the  purpose  of  advocating  the  Fatherhood 
of  God  and  the  brotherhood  of  man. 

We  put  out  this  circular  because  we  know  most  all 
denominations  prohibit  their  members  to  attend  any  other 
but  theirs. 

You  are  cordially  invited  to  attend,  and  to  join  heart 
and  hands  in  the  great  work  of  purifying  and  healing 
soul  and  body. 

The  so-called  sectarian  will  fade  away  like  snow  be- 
fore the  bright  sun  of  spring-time. 

Meeting  every  night.     Service  of  song,  7.30.     Regular 
meeting,  8  P.  M.    From  9  to  9.30  will  be  devoted  to  healing. 
Your  brother  in  love, 

FELIX  GOLD. 

"  Do  you  think  you'll  go  ?  "  asked  Cyril,  mischiev- 
ously. 

"  Thank  you,  I  won't  take  any  in  mine  if  I  know  it. 
Such  English ! " 

"  Well,  if  English  were  any  more  a  divine  institution 
than  everything  else,  '  I  won't  take  any  in  mine '  would 
be  a  venial  sin  at  the  least.  Felix  Gold !  I  must  have 
seen  the  name  somewhere.  The  '  mission,'  I  see,  is  in 
my  own  neighborhood." 

"Very  probably.  You  see  what  all  this  leads  to, 
Deane." 

"  Why,  if  he  does  what  he  claims,  it  leads  to  blue 
ruin  for  the  apothecaries,"  said  Cyril.  "  But  as  to  '  va- 


76  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

garies '  and  'guiding  hand  of  the  Church,'  don't  you 
know  there  is  a  Koman  priest  who — they  say — does  just 
this  very  thing  ?  " 

"  The  Church  of  Rome  has  always  claimed  to  work 
miracles,"  said  Mr.  Lane.  "  That  is  altogether  different 
from  this  fellow  professing  to  heal." 

"  When  he  can  not  even  write  English  ! "  said  Cyril, 
"  which  is  very  much  easier,  as  every  one  knows.  I 
say,  why  have  we  lost  the  gift  of  miracles,  Lane  ?  " 

"  Want  of  faith  and  loyalty,  Deane.  Perhaps  dis- 
union is  at  the  root  of  it." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Cyril,  thoughtfully.  "  Disunion ! 
This  fellow  seems  to  have  got  hold  of  that  idea.  He 
says  '  we  can  all  join  hands  in  the  great  work  of  puri- 
fying and  healing  soul  and  body.' ' 

"  Join  hands !  Perhaps  it  is  a  spiritualistic  seance" 
said  Bennet  Lane,  as  he  rose  to  go. 

Cyril  urged  him  to  stay,  offering  the  hospitality  of 
his  own  bed,  and  himself  to  sleep  on  the  sofa.  But 
Mr.  Lane  shook  his  head  quietly  but  firmly.  "  Best  not, 
Deane,"  he  said.  "  I  seem  only  to  do  you  harm,  and 
excite  a  spirit  of  faction  and  dispute.  I  shall  go  on 
to  the  clergy-house." 

"  Indeed,  I'm  very  sorry  if  I  seem  wrong-headed," 
said  Cyril.  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  ;  but  don't  you  know 
how  one  goes  around  with  a  lot  of  answers  in  one's 
mind,  and  never  realizes  that  they  are  answers  until 
some  one  else  or  something  else  produces  a  question  to 
fit  one  of  them  ?  " 


FELIX  GOLD.  77 

"  No,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Lane. 

"Well,  I  do,"  said  Cyril;  "and  it's  like  finding  a 
key  to  open  a  door :  one  never  knows  where  it  may 
lead  to." 

"  That  one  does  not,"  said  Mr.  Lane. 

"  But  God  does,"  said  Cyril,  smiling.  He  walked  a 
little  way  with  his  friend,  and  did  his  best  to  be  cheer- 
ful under  the  very  trying  circumstances.  When  he 
returned,  he  stood  for  a  moment  contemplating  the 
empty  plate  and  glass,  and  the  pushed-back  chair, 
whose  very  attitude  toward  the  table  was  expressive  of 
righteous  but  sorrowful  indignation. 

"  Now,  I  wonder  what  business  it  was  of  his,  any- 
way?" said  Cyril.  He  laughed  a  little  as  he  cleared 
away  the  dishes  into  his  corner  cupboard,  where  his  old 
woman  would  find  them  next  morning  when  she  came 
to  make  his  bed  and  tidy  up  generally.  "  Oh,  well," 
he  said,  "  heresy  is  everybody's  business,  I  suppose.  At 
least,  everybody  thinks  so." 

He  took  up  the  handbill  and  re-read  it  carefully. 
"  I  wonder  who  he  is  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  think  there's 
any  spiritualism  in  it,  though.  It  is  strange  his  name 
should  come  to  me  twice,  so  close  together.  I  must 
have  seen  it  on  the  church,  of  course.  It  may  be  only 
a  coincidence ;  but,  after  all,  what  is  a  coincidence  ? 
Is  a  coincidence  a  miracle,  or  is  a  miracle  only  a 
coincidence  ?  "  And  he  laughed  aloud  at  his  own  folly 
as  he  sat  down  to  read. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

THE   CASTING    OUT   OF   DEVILS. 

THE  big  church  was  full  to  overflowing  when  Cyril 
Deane  surveyed  it  from  the  pulpit  on  the  Sunday  morn- 
ing following  the  occurrences  we  have  described.  It  was 
of  brick,  painted  in  the  old  red  and  blue  temple  colors ; 
some  of  the  windows  were  richly  stained,  others,  from 
which  the  memorials  of  the  dead  had  accompanied  the 
living  to  a  more  fashionable  quarter,  were  filled  with 
plain  glass,  and  glorious  only  with  God's  sunlight. 

Before  him  was  a  sea  of  faces  ;  behind  him  the  deep, 
wide  chancel  with  its  double  choir  of  girls  and  boys ; 
"young  men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  children," 
praising  the  name  of  the  Lord.  He  knew  that  Nina 
sat  among  the  girls.  He  had  heard  that  sweet,  high 
soprano  of  hers  very  clearly  all  through  the  service ;  but 
he  was  not  thinking  especially  of  Nina,  though  he 
meant  to  speak  to  her  presently. 

He  arranged  his  manuscript  and  looked  over  the 
congregation.  In  a  pew  near  the  front  a  face  caught 
his  eye — a  pale,  pure  face,  under  a  gray  straw  bon- 
net trimmed  with  ribbon  of  the  same  color.  Nestling 
close  to  her  soft  robe  of  gray,  like  an  autumn  mist,  sat 


THE  CASTING  OUT  OF  DEVILS.  79 

a  wizened  little  figure,  with  great  black  eyes  of  eager 
curiosity,  and  not  much  face  besides.  In  actual  life 
he  was  eight  years  old ;  in  figure,  five ;  and  in  face  he 
might  have  been  a  hundred. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  Cyril's  carefully  prepared  sermon 
grew  to  him  utterly  vapid  and  inadequate:  for  it 
was  not  at  that  moment  merely  a  sermon  that  had  to 
be  preached.  The  gaze  of  those  wild,  uncanny  eyes 
of  the  boy ;  the  dark,  sweet,  tender,  uplifted  eyes 
that  Arthur  had  loved,  shot  through  him  a  vivid 
realization  that  it  was  the  bread  of  life  he  had  been 
set  to  break  to  this  people,  and  that  he  had  meant  to 
offer  them  a  stone. 

A  strange  thrill  swept  him  from  head  to  foot ;  his 
eyes  burned ;  there  was  a  tingling  in  his  brain ;  his 
very  hand  shook  as  he  drew  his  Bible  nearer  and  pushed 
aside  the  neatly  written  manuscript. 

"  And  he  was  casting  out  a  devil  which  was  dumb. 
And  it  came  to  pass,  when  the  devil  was  gone  out,  the 
dumb  man  spake,  and  the  multitudes  marveled." 

"  They  always  marveled,"  said  Cyril,  conversational- 
ly ;  "  not  that  we  should  wonder  at  their  being  surprised, 
you  know,  at  such  a  thing  as  a  devil  being  cast  out, 
but  what  follows  shows  that  their  astonishment  was 
not  exactly  of  the  right  sort.  For  some  of  them  said 
that  it  was  by  the  help  of  Beelzebub  that  he  had  cast 
out  one  of  Beelzebub's  subjects ;  and  others  wanted  him 
to  go  on  and  do  something  else  still  more  surprising, 
just  as  if  he  had  been  a  sleight-of-hand  magician ! 


80  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Now,  there  are  lots  of  good  people  who  will  tell  us  that 
it  was  not  really  a  devil  that  our  Lord  cast  out ;  that 
the  man  was  insane,  or  epileptic,  or  something  of  that 
sort,  and  that  the  story  is  very  much  exaggerated  any- 
how, and  perhaps  the  man  never  was  healed  at  all ! 
Then  there  are  others  who  would  not  go  as  far  as  that, 
for  the  world ;  but,  if  you  drive  them  into  a  corner, 
they  can  not  quite  pin  their  faith  to  the  story  as  it 
stands,  and  they  talk  about  the  influence  of  the  imagi- 
nation, and  other  natural  causes. 

"  I,  for  my  part,  am  perfectly  willing  to  believe 
that  the  man  was  obsessed  by  a  bad  spirit  —  you 
need  not  call  it  a  devil,  if  you  don't  like ;  it  may 
have  been  the  spirit  of  a  wicked  man,  who  had  loved 
his  own  body  so,  that  he  liked  to  get  hold  of  some  one 
else's  body  when  his  had  gone  to  corruption.  Now, 
then,  Christ  cast  him  out ;  this  account  doesn't  say 
how ;  neither  does  it  tell  us  how  he  got  in,  but  we 
can  imagine.  There  are  lots  of  ways  for  a  dumb  devil  to 
get  into  one  :  there  is  sullenness,  for  instance — nothing 
worth  considering  at  first ;  we  just  don't  want  to  talk, 
and  there's  no  one  worth  talking  to.  Ah,  but  that's 
not  the  point,  whether  we  want  to  talk :  it  is  whether 
we  ought  to  talk  ;  whether  other  people  have  not  a  right 
to  our  kind  and  pleasant  words.  Perhaps  we  fancy  that, 
in  our  sullenness,  we  are  following  our  own  will ;  but  in 
our  heart  of  hearts  we  really  know  better ;  at  most  our 
will  is  divided,  or  we  should  be  sullen  all  the  time.  But 
the  will  that  is  at  the  mercy  of  our  mood,  or  a  chance 


THE  CASTING  OUT  OF  DEVILS.  81 

remark,  or  the  weather,  is  not  a  free  will ;  and  because 
it  is  not  free,  it  is  at  the  mercy  of  any  foe  who  comes 
against  it.  Slaves,  as  we  all  know,  are  easily  conquered. 

"  But  it  may  be  said  that  sullenness,  sensitiveness, 
or  whatever  we  like  to  call  this  dumb  devil,  comes 
often  from  nervous  ill-health.  "Well,  of  course,  it  often 
does ;  and  very  often  our  sensitive  fancies  have  some- 
thing to  build  on.  Our  friends  get  impatient  with  us, 
scornful,  sarcastic ;  we  may  give  them  cause ;  but  if  they 
could  see  that  evil  spirit — the  soul  of  a  hanged 
murderer,  perhaps — trying  to  take  possession  of  us — it 
may  be  they  would  fight  on  our  side  instead  of  his. 

"  Sometimes  this  dumbness  becomes  actual  loss  of 
voice.  I  have  known  cases  where  such  a  physical  con- 
dition was  accompanied  by  symptoms  which  might  well 
have  indicated  obsession  by  an  evil  spirit.  And  I 
have  heard  of  a  loss  of  voice  from  nervousness  being 
cured  by  hypnotism.  The  patient  was  thrown  into 
a  mesmeric  sleep,  and  was  told,  when  she  waked,  to 
say  '  Good-morning '  aloud,  and  to  keep  on  using  her 
natural  voice.  She  did  so.  Now,  in  this  case,  I  know 
nothing  whatever  of  the  sufferer's  spiritual  condition ; 
but  it  is  very  evident  that  there  was  no  physical 
hindrance  to  speech.  What  she  needed  was  a  free 
will,  or,  as  we  often  say,  more  will-power. 

"  It  may  have  occurred  to  some  of  you  that  a  certain 
divine,  about  whom  there  has  recently  been  a  great  deal 
of  talk,  has  said  that  the  miracles  of  Christ  may  possi- 
bly have  been  wrought  by  some  sort  of  hypnotic  power. 


g2  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

But  hypnotism  means  sleep ;  it  is  a  surrendering  of 
will-power.  A  man  may  be  cured  of  the  tobacco-habit 
by  hypnotic  suggestion,  but  he  is  not  in  the  least  more 
able  to  overcome  the  whisky-habit  because  of  his  cure. 
Rather,  his  will-power  is  weakened,  certainly  toward  the 
hypnotizer,  and  probably,  in  other  directions ;  though 
the  subject  has  been  so  little  studied  that  we  can  not 
speak  positively.  Now,  Jesus  Christ  never  put  any  one 
to  sleep  in  order  to  cure  ;  and  his  method  seems  to  have 
been  to  draw  out  the  will  and  make  it  free.  '  Stretch 
forth  thy  hand,'  'Go,  wash  in  the  pool  of  Siloam,' 
4  Show  yourselves  to  the  priests ' — these  were  some  of 
his  ways. 

"  Perhaps  he  means  to  call  attention  to  this  method 
of  his  when  he  tells  the  Jews  that  their  own  sons  shall 
be  their  judges  as  to  whether  he  casts  out  devils  by 
Beelzebub  or  by  the  finger  of  God.  And  then  he 
points  out,  clearly  and  unmistakably,  the  only  source  of 
free-will.  'When  a  strong  man  fully  armed  keepeth 
his  own  court,  his  goods  are  at  peace;  but  when  a 
stronger  than  he  shall  come  upon  him,  and  overcome 
him,  he  taketh  from  him  all  his  armor  wherein  he 
trusted,  and  divideth  the  spoils.  He  that  is  not  with 
me  is  against  me ;  and  he  that  gathereth  not  with  me 
scattereth  abroad.' 

"  That  is,  the  strong  man  is  only  relatively  strong ; 
unless  his  will  is  one  with  Christ's,  it  is  a  divided  will. 
Even  when  the  unclean  spirit  has  been  driven  out  of  a 
man — shall  we  say  by  hypnotic  influence  ? — the  man  is 


THE  CASTING   OUT  OF  DEVILS.  83 

not  safe,  if  his  heart  be,  as  hypnotic  suggestion  cer- 
tainly leaves  it,  empty,  swept,  and  garnished.  For  the 
spirit  may  return  in  another  form ;  having  been  ban- 
ished as  alcohol,  he  may  return  as  morphine,  with  seven 
other  spirits  more  wicked  than  himself;  and  the  last 
state  of  that  man  shall  be  worse  than  the  first." 

Cyril  paused,  and  looked  over  the  great  church  half- 
wistfully,  with  those  wonderful,  changeful  eyes.  The 
magnetic  power  of  which  Fritz  Hermann  had  spoken 
was  strong  upon  them  all.  When  they  had  left  him,  one 
or  another  might  differ  with  his  conclusions,  might 
even  be  ready  to  hate  and  persecute  him ;  but  it  was  a 
magnetism  which  left  no  man  there  exactly  as  it  had 
found  him. 

"  Is  there  no  practical  lesson  for  us  ?  "  he  said ;  "  are 
there  no  devils  to  be  cast  out  now  ?  My  friends,  it  is 
a  deep  thing,  a  thing  hard  to  understand,  but  I,  for  one, 
believe  that  all  sorrow,  all  suffering,  is  the  consequence  of 
sin — our  own  sin  and  the  sin  of  others.  Sometimes  only 
bearing  the  sorrow  can  remove  the  sin  ;  otherwhiles,  to 
cure  the  sin  is  to  cure  the  sickness,  the  trouble,  the 
insanity.  If  we  had  the  power  to  annihilate  at  a  blow 
all  the  poverty  and  suffering  in  the  world,  should  we 
not  fear  to  do  so,  lest  our  last  state  should  be  worse  than 
our  first  ? 

"  But  to  free  our  own  will  and  the  wills  of  others,  to 
free  them  by  union  with  the  will  of  Christ,  tliat  we  may 
dare  to  do!  And  also  we  have  here  a  touch-stone 
whereby  to  try  the  new  theories  and  isms  that  are  in 


84  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

the  world ;  and  the  work  of  mesmeric  doctors,  Chris- 
tian scientists,  and  so  on.  Is  the  whole  man  made 
stronger ;  is  his  will  more  free  ?  Then  forbid  not  the 
cure.  No  man  can  so  cast  out  devils  save  by  the  finger 
of  God. 

"  '  John  said  unto  him,  Master,  we  saw  one  casting 
out  devils  in  thy  name,  and  we  forbade  him,  because  he 
followed  not  us.'  But  Jesus  said,  '  Forbid  him  not ;  for 
there  is  no  man  which  shall  do  a  mighty  work  in  my 
name  and  be  able  quickly  to  speak  evil  of  me.  .For  he 
that  is  not  against  us  is  for  us.'  " 

"  How  would  you  class  that  sermon  ? "  asked  the 
rector,  smilingly,  as  he  took  off  cassock  and  cotta  in  the 
vestry.  "  One  minute  I  thought  it  old-time  mysticism  ; 
the  next,  brand-new  modern  materialism.  I  declare, 
Deane,  you've  got  me  so  mixed  up,  I  sha'n't  enjoy  my 
dinner.  I  wish  you'd  get  your  ideas  a  little  straight- 
ened out  before  you  fire  them  at  us.  Not  that  it  wasn't 
a  good  sermon,  you  know." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Cyril,  as  he  hurried  away. 

The  Leonard  brother  and  sister  had  not  left  the 
church ;  he  was  in  time  to  give  Meta  a  cordial  hand- 
shake, and  to  learn  the  name  of  her  brother,  little 
Hugh. 

"  Fritz  has  gone  away,"  she  said,  smiling ;  but  Hugh 
only  stared  at  Mr.  Deane  with  his  great  eyes,  and  said 
nothing  at  all. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHY    NEED    WE    DIE? 

DUSTING  at  the  rectory  on  Sunday  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidered a  part  of  Cyril's  ministerial  duty.  No  one 
knew  just  how  the  custom  had  so  bound  itself  upon  the 
public  conscience ;  but  perhaps  Cyril  would  have  been 
more  easily  able  to  excuse  himself  occasionally  had  the 
duty  been  less  disagreeable.  On  this  particular  Sunday 
the  presence  of  the  Rev.  Bennet  Lane  was  scarcely 
an  occasion  of  added  cheerfulness.  And  yet  I  have  an 
uneasy  sense  of  injustice  toward  the  Reverend  Bennet, 
a  consciousness  that  I  am  not  showing  him  the  excellent 
fellow  he  is.  But,  indeed,  it  is  the  unlovely  side  of  his 
character  that  is  uppermost  at  this  time ;  he  is  acting, 
not  as  he  believes,  but  as  he  dogmatizes,  and  the  un- 
reality makes  him  unlovely,  for  love  is  not  only  real, 
but  the  only  Real. 

Mrs.  Lydgate  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  calmly 
dark  and  dignified  ;  she  said  little,  but  helped  Cyril  to 
potatoes,  and  saw  that  his  other  wants  were  supplied,  in 
a  manner  that  showed  disapprobation.  The  rector's 
eyes  twinkled  mischievously.  He  had  long  ago  found 
it  necessary  for  his  own  well-being  to  incase  himself  in 


86  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

triple  armor  against  Mrs.  Lydgate's  indifferences,  and 
perhaps  some  of  the  finer  sympathies  were  excluded  by 
the  same  means ;  at  all  events,  he  felt  decidedly  amused 
at  the  young  man's  evident  discomfort.  The  rest  of 
the  family  were  not  inclined  to  be  talkative ;  in  fact, 
the  Lydgates  were  not  loquacious ;  but  Eleanor,  the 
eldest  daughter,  said,  after  a  while  : 

"  I  did  not  quite  understand  that  sermon  of  yours 
this  morning,  Mr.  Deane." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that,"  said  poor  Cyril,  trying  to 
smile. 

"  "Well,  I'm  sorry  too,"  returned  Eleanor,  "  because 
it  seemed  as  though  it  might  have  been  so  good,  you 
know,  if  one  could  but  have  got  hold  of  it.  I  suppose 
it  was  my  stupidity — " 

"  Yes,  it  must  have  been,"  said  Nina,  promptly. 

"  Nina ! " 

"  Well,  mamma,  /  understood  it." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  say  so,  Miss  Nina,"  said 
Cyril,  laughing  and  blushing  like  a  girl,  "  but  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  understood  it  myself.  It  was  a  sudden  in- 
spiration, you  know — " 

"  Oh,  yes !  such  as  the  prophets  used  to  have,"  said 
Eleanor,  innocently. 

"  Now — now — Miss  Eleanor — pray — " 

"  Pray?  Yes,  I  think  she'd  better,"  said  the  rector, 
unexpectedly.  "  Never  mind,  Deane,  there  were  always 
plenty  to  stone  the  prophets. — Have  you  ever  observed, 
Mr.  Lane,  what  a  bad  habit  people  have  of  discussing 


WHY  NEED  WE   DIE?  87 

sermons,  instead  of  laying  them  to  heart?  Not  that  I 
ever  allow  mine  to  be  discussed — which  accounts  for 
the  vim  with  which  my  family  attack  those  of  other 
people." 

"Are  you  not  unjust  to  Eleanor,  Dr.  Lydgate?" 
asked  his  wife.  "  It  was  scarcely  an  attack,  I  think. 
One  can  not  blame  her  for  wishing  to  have  what  she 
does  not  understand  explained  to  her." 

"  But  the  dinner-table  is  not  just  the  place  for  an 
explanation  of  that  kind,"  said  the  doctor. — "  I'll  lend 
you  and  Deane  my  study  after  dinner,  Eleanor,  if  you 
wish." 

"  Papa,"  said  Eleanor,  "  did  you  understand  what 
Mr.  Deane  meant  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  who  felt  that  he  was  driven 
into  a  corner,  "  perhaps  he  expressed  it  differently,  but 
I'm  sure  I've  said  essentially  the  same  thing  a  dozen 
times.  If  you  wish  to  have  the  question  so  stated  that 
you  can  understand  it,  Eleanor,  there  is  a  very  good 

clew  in  a  lecture  by  Dr.  B ,  which  I  will  show  you. — 

You've  read  his  Lectures  on  Preaching,  Mr.  Lane  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not.  Do  you  recommend  them  ?  "  asked 
the  Reverend  Bennet. 

The  rector  chuckled.  "  Truth  and  Personality," 
he  said,  "  that's  the  subject  of  it.  Personality — the  in- 
fluence of  personality — that's  what  Deane  was  trying  to 
get  at  this  morning,  I  think." 

"  Trying  to  get  at  ? "  said  Mrs.  Lydgate,  express- 
ively. 


88  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  That's  just  about  where  it  is,"  said  Cyril.  "  I  was 
carried  out  of  myself,  Mrs.  Lydgate ;  I  can  only  apolo- 
gize.— I  say,  doctor,  will  you  lend  me  those  lectures  ?  " 

"With  pleasure.  /  don't  think  them  unsound," 
said  Dr.  Lydgate,  with  a  comical  glance  at  Mr.  Lane. 

"  Don't  mind  the  women,"  was  his  advice  to  Cyril, 
later  on.  "  Go  right  ahead,  and  give  your  inspiration 
the  reins ;  a  little  wholesale  mysticism  doesn't  hurt 
anybody.  Of  course,  mysticism  is  largely  a  matter  of 
temperament;  but  lots  of  people  have  that  tempera- 
ment, and  it  is  right  that  their  needs  should  be  met. 
By  the  way,  didn't  I  see  you  speaking  to  Miss  Leonard  ? 
Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  I  know  some  things  about  her,  sir." 

The  rector's  face  worked.  "  She's  a  strange  girl," 
he  said.  "  I  was  glad  to  see  her  at  church  to-day.  She 
is  really  one  of  our  people  still,  you  know,  and  I  think 
perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  her.  I 
can  not ;  but  it  is  scarcely  her  fault,  poor  girl." 

"  No,"  said  Cyril ;  "  it  is  not  her  fault." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Lane,"  said  the 
doctor,  when  Cyril  had  gone  to  his  mission  Sunday- 
school  and  had  left  them  alone  :  "  I  have  a  strong  sus- 
picion that  neither  of  us  is  fit  to  tie  that  young  man's 
shoes ;  and  that  for  us  to  disapprove  of  him  is  simply — 
cheeky." 

"  I  admire  his  personal  character  as  much  as  you 
could  do,"  said  Mr.  Lane ;  "  and  it  is  just  because  I  love 
him  that  it  pains  me  to  see  him  becoming — ah — not  ex- 


WHY  NEED   WE  DIE?  89 

actly  sound,  you  know — deserting  his  colors  at  the  crisis 
of  the  bat—" 

"  Bosh  and  botheration  ! "  said  the  doctor,  so  gen- 
ially that  it  did  not  seem  rude. 

At  Sunday-school  Cyril  succeeded  in  getting  a 
word  with  Nina.  "I  thought  you  were  angry,  Miss 
Nina,"  he  said,  smilingly  ;  "  you  plainly  avoided  me  this 
morning,  but  you  took  my  part  nobly  at  dinner." 

"  I  liked  that  sermon,"  said  Nina,  without  denying 
the  charge  of  avoidance ;  "  but  Eleanor  is  always  dis- 
agreeable; nobody  minds  her.  0  Mr.  Deane,  do  you 
know,  I  told  mamma  about  the  lady  in  black !  I  felt  as 
though  I  must.  Was  that  she  at  church  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  seems  she  is  an  old  parishioner.  Your 
father  was  very  glad  to  see  her  here  again ;  so  it  was 
quite  right  of  her  to  send  a  message,  and  only  bad  taste 
that  made  her  send  for  me  instead  of  him." 

"  What's  her  name  ?  Mamma  said  she  thought  she 
knew  her,  and  her  face  got  so  red — " 

"  Her  name  is  Leonard,"  said  Cyril,  hastily,  "  and  she 
seems  very  pleasant;  but  if  she  should  seek  you  out 
again,  Miss  Nina —  Well,  I  can  hardly  explain — " 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  of  Meta  Leonard,"  said  Nina. 
"  She's  awfully  pretty." 

To  which  remark  Cyril  had  no  reply  ready. 

Fortified  by  the  approval  of  his  rector,  and  drawn 
by  an  attraction  which  he  had  not  yet  classified,  Cyril 
found  himself,  in  a  very  few  days,  standing  again  out- 


90  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

side  the  green  gate.  Old  Nastasia  held  up  her  hands  in 
thankfulness  when  she  opened  it  to  admit  him.  "  Bress 
de  Lawd,  young  marster,"  she  said,  "  wid  you  come,  an' 
dat  ar'  sarpint  done  gone  away,  dar's  some  use  o'  livin'. 
Come  right  in  ;  dey's  in  de  parlor,  same  as  folks.  Ole 
Nastasia  ain't  got  no  use  for  dese  no-'count  ways  o' 
con j 'in'  people,  no- way.  What  w'ite  folks  know  'bout 
conj'in'?" 

As  Cyril  entered  the  parlor  Hugh  came  forward  in 
his  old-fashioned  way  to  shake  hands,  and  then  curled 
up  in  an  arm-chair  with  one  knee  under  him,  and  his 
great,  solemn  eyes  on  his  visitor. 

"Sister  will  be  here  in  a  moment,"  said  Hugh. 
"  Grandmamma  wants  to  see  you.  She  saw  you  com- 
ing up  the  garden,  and  rang  her  bell  for  sister  to 
get  her  clean  cap  and  make  her  tidy.  It  is  usually 
Martha  who  does  those  things  for  grandmamma," 
the  boy  continued,  "  but  since  Fritz  has  been  away,  and 
sister  gives  no  more  seances,  grandmamma  says  she 
must  earn  her  living  in  some  way,  so  she  has  discharged 
Martha—" 

"  Your  grandmamma  must  be  a  sad  invalid,"  said 
Cyril. 

"  She  is  not  sad,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  she  is  very 
dreadfully  cross.  Do  you  think  she  is  obsessed  by  a 
devil,  Mr.  Deane  ?  " 

"  If  she  is  old  and — not  always  amiable  ?  "  said  Cyril. 
"  My  dear  boy,  wait  until  you  are  old  and  sick,  and  per- 
haps you  will  understand." 


WHY  NEED  WE  DIE?  91 

s 

"  But  that  is  a  long  time  to  wait  to  understand  any- 
thing," said  the  boy,  solemnly.  "  Then,  if  she  is  not 
obsessed,  could  Jesus  Christ  have  healed  her  ?  " 

"  If  her  sickness  comes  from  old  age,  death  will  heal 
her,"  said  Cyril. 

"  Then  death  is  stronger  than  Jesus  Christ,"  said 
Hugh.  "  Could  our  Lord  have  healed  me,  Mr. 
Deane?" 

"  My  dear  little  boy,"  said  Cyril,  "  certainly  he  could 
heal  you  now  if  he  thought  it  best ;  and  he  has  con- 
quered death,  you  know,  for  he  rose  from  the  dead." 

"  Materialized  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  Not  quite  ; "  and  Cyril  took  the  child  on  his  knee 
and  told  him  the  story  of  the  Lord's  crucifixion  and 
rising  again,  and  how  numbers  of  those  who  slept  arose 
and  walked  about  the  city  and  were  seen  of  many. 

"  Then  they  materialized,  at  all  events,"  said  the 
child.  "  And  that's  how  it  was,  you  see  :  the  bodies 
would  not  hold  together,  and  so  they  had  to  go  back 
again.  That's  always  the  way  with  spirits.  They  de- 
materialize  so  soon." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  how  did  you  hear  such 
things  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  slip  into  the  seances  sometimes,"  said  the 
boy.  "  Fritz  says  I  am  a  sensitive,  too,  and  if  he  were 
my  legal  guardian  he  could  train  my  powers ;  but,  you 
see,  I've  got  such  a  poor  physique,  he's  afraid  to  run 
any  risks  with  me  without  my  guardian's  consent." 

"  I  see,"  said  Cyril. 


92  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  But  if  Christ  conquered  death,  why  need  we  die  ?  " 
continued  the  boy.  "  Grandmamma  hates  it  so.  Say/ 
why  need  we  ?  " 

" '  Who  by  his  death  hath  destroyed  death,  and  by 
his  rising  again  hath  restored  to  us  everlasting  life,' " 
said  Cyril,  seriously.  "  Keally,  it  does  seem  unnecessary, 
Hugh." 

"  Then  why  do  people  die  ?  "  persisted  the  boy. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cyril.  He  could  not,  or 
would  not,  evade  or  puzzle  a  childish  questioner  to  hide 
his  own  ignorance,  and  it  struck  him  for  the  first  time 
that  he  really  did  not  know.  Then  he  smiled  suddenly. 
"  I'll  tell  you  how  I  think  it  may  be,  Hugh,"  he  said. 
"  You  know,  our  Lord  destroyed  sin,  and  yet  we  sin 
still ;  and  so,  though  he  conquered  death,  we  die  still." 

"  Then  where's  the  good  of  it?" 

"  The  good  of  it  is,  that  he  did  the  hardest  part  of 
the  work  and  left  it  for  us  to  finish,  except  that  he  did 
not  leave  us,  you  know,  for  he  is  with  us  always.  And, 
of  course,  we  can  not  finish  the  work  all  at  once.  It 
has  to  be  done  gradually,  and  when  it  is  quite  done, 
there  will  be  no  more  death ;  for  St.  Paul  says,  '  The 
last  enemy  that  shall  be  destroyed  is  death.'  " 

"  Then  must  grandmamma  die  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  afraid  so — you,  and  grandmamma,  and 
I ;  but  we  won't  mind  that,  if  we  can  help  win  the  bat- 
tle for  other  people,  will  we?"  said  the  young  man, 
cheerfully. 

Hugh's  eyes  gleamed  ;  he  gave  a  quaint  little  rapt- 


WHY  NEED  WE  DIEf  93 

urous  smile;  then  his  heavily  marked  eyebrows  rose 
slightly,  in  a  very  grown-up  way.  "  I  believe  grand- 
mamma would  mind  that,"  he  said.  "  Ah !  there's 
Meta." 

It  seemed  to  Cyril  that  she  had  grown  younger  and 
sweeter  in  those  few  days — more  like  a  woman  and  less 
like  a  spirit. 

"  Fritz  is  still  away,"  she  said.  "  He  writes  me  that 
he  is  learning  such  wonderful  things,  which  he  will  tell 
me  when  he  returns.  Now,  will  you  come  and  see 
grandmamma  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CRIMSON   AND   SUNSET  GOLD. 

IT  was  a  brilliant  Indian  summer  afternoon,  with 
just  a  softening  haze  over  all,  as  though  the  day  had 
lowered  its  lashes  in  modest  consciousness  of  its  own 
beauty.  The  south  and  west  windows  of  the  great 
square  room  were  ablaze  with  the  declining  sunlight ; 
low,  wide  windows  they  were,  framed  in  coral  honey- 
suckle ;  outside  of  one  was  a  circular  bed  of  brilliant, 
red  geraniums,  and  the  other  looked  out  upon  bushes  of 
scarlet  sage.  Pots  of  bright-hued  plants  were  in  bloom 
upon  the  deep  window-seats ;  the  carpet  and  furniture 
were  a  deep  crimson,  and  curtains  of  the  same  hue 
were  drawn  quite  back  from  the  windows  upon  their 
brass  rods,  lest  they  should  intercept  a  single  sun-ray. 
A  bright  log-fire  upon  the  open  hearth,  reflected  from 
the  brazen  andirons  and  fender,  added  to  the  stifling 
heat  and  overpowering  vividness  of  the  room  ;  and  in  a 
great  crimson  cushioned  chair  drawn  close  by  the 
hearth  sat — a  Pair  of  Eyes. 

She  was  very  old.  Whether  she  had  any  hair  was 
uncertain,  for  a  cap  with  a  fluffy  border  of  crepe  lisse 
was  drawn  nearly  to  her  eyebrows;  it  was  white  in 


CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD.  95 

color ;  her  dress  was  black,  but  she  had  a  gay  red  shawl 
over  her  shoulders ;  her  face  was  deadly  white,  seamed 
and  crossed  by  thousands  of  tiny  wrinkles ;  her  eyes —  ! 

Cyril's  heart  beat  strangely ;  one  great  throb,  and 
then  it  sank  down — down,  whether  in  pity  or  terror  he 
could  scarcely  have  told.  What  was  this  bent,  white, 
dreadful  thing  ?  Was  it  woman,  or  devil  ?  But  he  forced 
himself  to  meet  her  eyes  quietly ;  he  held  her  hand 
without  a  tremor,  as  she  peered  eagerly  into  his  face. 

"  So  you  are  Cyril  Deane  ?  "  she  said.  He  could  not 
tell  if  her  voice  had  disappointment  in  it. 

"  I  am  Cyril  Deane,"  he  said,  with  that  sweet,  bright 
smile  of  his  ;  "  how  can  I  help  you  ?  " 

It  was  not  a  mere  fashion  of  speech ;  this  woman 
had  fastened  to  his  coming  some  sort  of  hope — he  felt 
that  in  every  nerve ;  and  the  sudden  blaze  in  her  dark, 
terrible  eyes  did  not  contradict  the  thought. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said.  "  Talk  to  me  ;  tell  me  about 
yourself,  what  you  know,  what  you  can  do.  Let  me  find 
out  if  you  can  help  me." 

How  should  he  speak  to  this  soul  ?  It  was  some- 
thing real  she  wanted  from  him ;  therefore,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  he  answered  her  straight  out  of  the 
eternal  verities. 

"  About  myself  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  am  only  the  servant 
of  Jesus  Christ,  Mrs.  Shryock — that  is  all  there  is  to  say 
about  me ;  and  my  aim  is  to  be  able  to  know  and  to  do 
only  his  will." 

"  There  were  slaves  once,"  she  said,  "  who  knew  and 


96  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

did  only  my  will,  or  else  I  had  them  beaten.  She, 
there,"  pointing  to  Meta,  "  is  the  slave  of  Fritz  Her- 
mann. He  does  not  beat  her — he  does  not  need,  for  she 
can  not  refuse  to  obey ;  but  when  he  is  gone  she  is 
happier,  and  she  does  as  she  likes.  You  aim  to  have  no 
will  but  Christ's ;  you  wish  to  be  his  slave — is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Not  his  slave,  but  his  freeman,"  he  said. 

She  gazed  at  him  unflinchingly  with  her  terrible 
eyes. 

"  My  grandson  Hugh — to  be  more  exact,  my  great- 
grandson — came  home  on  Sunday  and  told  me  about 
your  sermon.  Do  you  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  healed 
the  sick  ? — yes  ? — raised  the  dead — YES  ?  " — her  voice 
rising  to  a  shriek — "  did  he  raise  the  dead  ?  " 

"  He  did,"  said  Cyril,  calmly. 

"  And  his  followers — did  any  of  them  raise  the 
dead?" 

"  That  is  not  quite  certain,"  said  Cyril.  "  In  the 
case  of  Eutychus,  who  fell  from  the  third  loft  and  was 
taken  up  for  dead,  it  seems  probable  that  he  was  only 
stunned.  The  context — " 

"What  do  I  care  for  contexts?"  said  the  old 
woman.  "Do  you  know  of  any  one  who  can  raise  the 
dead  now ?  " 

"I  do  not." 

"  Nor  who  can  keep  the  living  alive  forever  ?  " 

"  Only  one." 

"  WHO  ? — pshaw  !  I  see  the  answer  on  your  lips. 
Christ,  is  it  not  ?  But  I  know,  too,  how  he  does  it.  It 


CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD.  97 

is  not  what  /  mean  by  life.  Go !  you  are  like  all 
preachers.  Go ! " 

"  Why  should  you  have  thought  me  different  from 
the  rest,"  asked  Cyril,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  more  calmly.  "  Only 
they — Meta  and  Fritz — have  such  power  over  the  dead ; 
they  can  bring  back  their  souls  from — wherever  it  is — 
hell  or  heaven,  and  even  give  them  bodies  for  a  few 
moments.  Well — you — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cyril,  "  what  of  me  ?  for  I  can  do 
nothing  like  that,  you  know." 

"But  you  have  such  power  over  them"  said  the  old 
woman.  "  You  broke  the  power  of  Fritz  over  the  girl. 
Nastasia  says  you  have  the  conjurer's  art — gift — what 
you  like  to  call  it.  Fritz  admits  your  wonderful  mag- 
netic power.  Perhaps  you  could  raise  the  dead,  if  you 
would  only  try.  Or  at  least  you  could  keep  one  alive 
— an  old  woman  like  me — just  a  few  years,  a  few  months 
longer."  Her  aged  voice  with  that  shrill,  tuneless 
quaver — ah,  it  was  very  pitiful !  "  Do  you  not  think 
so  ?  "  she  urged,  eagerly. 

"  Do  you  so  much  dread  to  die  ? "  he  asked,  com- 
passionately. 

She  trembled  all  over.  "  Meta,"  she  said,  sharply, 
"  leave  the  room  ! " 

The  girl  obeyed.  Cyril  sprang  from  his  chair  to 
open  the  door  for  her,  and  as  she  passed  him  she  looked 
into  his  face  with  great,  pathetic  eyes  full  of  tears.  He 
returned  to  his  place  beside  the  old  woman,  thrilling  in 


98 '  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

every  nerve  ;  his  head  was  confused.  For  a  moment  he 
scarcely  heard  the  words  she  was  pouring  into  his  ear, 
until  one  sentence  startled  him  awake. 

"  You  shall  have  her,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  and 
every  penny  of  my  money  except  what  I  need  for  my- 
self, but  that  is  very  little.  And  I  have  plenty  of 
money — oh  !  plenty ;  no  one  knows  but  me  how  much ; 
for  when  I  pretend  to  be  poor,  it  is  only  to  make 
them  economical.  And  I  wish  to  live  !  God  of  heaven, 
how  I  wish  it !  Make  me  live,  keep  me  alive,  and  all 
of  it — Meta,  too — shall  be.your  own." 

He  passed  his  hand  wearily  across  his  eyes.  "  Dear 
madam,"  he  said,  "  what  I  can  do  for  you  I  will ;  but 
life  is  the  gift  of  God." 

"I  was  reading  a  story  the  other  day,"  she  said 
— "  oh  !  I  can  read,  I  have  my  second  sight  now — of  one 
who  kept  alive  an  old,  old  man,  older  than  I — over  a 
century.  It  was  by  magnetism.  They  threw  him  into 
a  magnetic  sleep,  and  there  was  no  waste  of  tissue." 

"  I  have  read  that  story,"  he  said.  "  "What  effect  had 
the  power  she  wielded  on  the  soul  of  the  magnetizer  ?  " 

"  Does  that  matter  ?  "  she  asked.  But,  ah,  I  see ! 
you  are  like  the  rest — it  is  your  own  salvation  that 
matters  chiefly  to  you  ;  you  would  not  imperil  that  to 
save  a  universe  ! " 

He  leaned  forward  and  took  her  withered  hand  in 
his  own.  "Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "what  you  mean  by 
my  power  I  do  not  know,  nor  whether  I  have  any ;  but  of 
this  I  am  sure,  that  all  that  is  in  me  comes  down  from 


CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD.  99 

the  Father  of  lights — the  Father  of  life — '  with  whom  is 
no  variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning.'  If  now  I 
turn  away  from  him — if  I  do  what  I  do  not  know 
to  be  right — I  let  go  of  his  hand ;  and  where  is  my 
power  ?  " 

She  laid  her  other  hand  over  his  and  looked  piteous- 
ly  into  his  face.  "  As  for  mere  existence,"  he  went  on, 
"  mere  absence  of  putrefaction,  such  a  life  in  death  of 
the  body,  and  death  in  life  of  the  soul,  as  was  described 
in  that  book — well,  it  may  be  Mr.  Hermann  could 
give  you  that  for  a  few  months ;  but  would  you  care  for 
it?" 

"  I  am  afraid  to  die,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  holding  fast 
his  hand  as  though  some:  power  came  to  her  through 
the  white,  strong  fingers  ;  "there  is  a  worse  life  in  death 
than  the  one  you  have  described." 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said. 

Her  voice  was  a  hoarse,  terrible  whisper.  "If  one 
could  die  outright,"  she  said,  "  it  would  be  easy ;  but  to 
cling  to  matter,  to  embody  one's  self  in  a  chair  or  table, 
to  write  on  slates  and  tie  cords  together ;  to  take  blood 
from  a  poor,  weak  girl  like  Meta  there,  just  to  pose  as  a 
human  being  for  a  few  brief  minutes ! —  Mr.  Deane> 
when  I  was  '  the  proud  Katharine  Fane,'  as  they  called 
me,  would  any  one  have  supposed  I  should  come  to  that  ? 
Why,  there  was  a  negro  boy  once — he  was  my  half- 
brother,  and  knew  it,  as  I  did,  and  he  loved  the  very 
ground  I  walked  on.  But  one  evening,  as  he  helped  me 
from  the  carriage,  he  touched  his  lips  to  my  bare  arm, 


100  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

where  the  cloak  had  blown  aside.  I  was  beautiful  in 
those  days — !  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said,  as  she  paused. 

"  I  had  him  sold  ! "  she  went  on.  "  I  knew  that  in 
his  heart  he  dared  to  think  of  me  as  his  sister,  and  I  was 
so  proud  !  And  it  broke  his  heart.  I  never  heard  that 
he  was  treated  unkindly ;  but  he  would  not  eat ;  he 
drooped  away,  faded,  and  died.  Negroes  are  like  that 
at  times;  they  have  not  the  stamina  that  we  have. 
But  he  did  not  quite  die,  you  know — he  has  come  back ; 
he  can  not  get  away  from  me,  he  says.  No  one  knows 
who  he  is  ;  he  only  calls  himself  '  Henry  ' ;  and  it  was 
sixty  years  ago.  Think  of  it— sixty  years  drifting 
around  in  the  smoky,  sooty,  curse-laden  air  of  this 
world,  clinging  to  tables  and  chairs  !  Can  you  save  me 
from  that?" 

"  Do  you  ever  wish  you  could  save  him  ? "  asked 
Cyril.  "  Eemember,  you  sent  him  to  it." 

"  A  negro — a  mere  slave — and  to  dare  to  kiss  my 
arm ! "  she  said. 

"  Your  brother ! "  said  Cyril. 

"  An  ignorant  boy  who  could  not  even  read ;  even 
now  he  can  only  send  messages  through  my  father ! " 

"  So  they  are  together,  and  there  is  no  inequality 
between  them  but  one  of  spelling,"  said  Cyril.  "  Mrs. 
Shryock,  if  the  boy  belonged  to  you  so  utterly,  body  and 
soul,  you  could  have  made  him  what  you  would.  We 
wield  a  fearful  power  over  those  who  love  us.  It  is 
your  blame  that  the  boy  is  where  he  is.  But  remem- 


CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD.  101 

ber  that  action  and  reaction  are  always  equal :  his  power 
over  you  must  be  equal  to  yours  over  him,  though  it 
may  not  be  evident  in  any  shape  that  you  can  recognize. 
But  when  you  go  where  he  is  now — where  he  is  the 
older  inhabitant — "  He  was  interrupted  by  a  frightful 
shriek !  The  old  woman  pushed  him  away  from  her 
with  both  hands,  and  rang  her  bell  violently.  "  Fiend  ! 
devil !  to  torture  me  so  ! "  she  cried.  "  Go !  leave  me  !  " 

Then  Meta,  Nastasia,  perhaps  others — Cyril  could 
not  be  sure — came  rushing  in  ;  it  was  all  a  horrible  con- 
fusion of  cries  to  God  for  mercy  and  frightful  blas- 
phemies. In  the  midst  of  it  one  sentence  rang  out 
clear  and  distinct  upon  the  young  man's  bewildered 
sense : 

"  There  is  no  hope !  I  offered  him  your  love  as  a 
bribe,  and  he  scorned  it." 

He  turned  and  would  have  hurried  from  the  room, 
carrying  with  him  the  vision  of  a  slender  figure,  white 
against  the  crimson  background,  her  slight  fingers 
clasped  appealingly,  her  eyes  large  and  strained. 
"  Grandmother,"  she  cried,  "  what  would  you  make  of 
me  ?  Kill  me,  and  have  done  with  it.  I  am-  a  straw, 
a  plaything  unfit  to  live.  Have  I  no  self  of  my 
own?" 

Then  Cyril  gathered  himself  together  and  turned 
back ;  he  held  out  both  hands,  in  which  she  laid  her 
own  unhesitatingly,  looking  into  his  eyes  with  utter 
trust.  His  face  was  very  white,  and  his  hands  were 
cold  but  untremulous.  "  So  help  me  God,"  he  said, 


102  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  as  I  help  you  to  be  true  to  yourself ;   afterward  to 
whomsoever  you  will." 

When  next  he  came  to  himself — nay,  rather,  when 
he  became  conscious  of  the  motions  of  his  earthly  taber- 
nacle— he  stood  upon  the  edge  of  a  hill  just  where  a 
deep  cutting  had  been  made  for  the  railway.  It  lay 
before  him  black  and  grimy,  and  upon  the  other  side  of 
it  such  a  settlement  as  is  apt  to  spring  up  in  the  track 
of  this  harbinger  and  vital  cord  of  civilization — foul, 
sordid,  reeking  with  the  fumes  of  liquor-dens  and  all 
imaginable  and  unimaginable  vice.  Beyond  it,  the  top- 
most rim  of  the  setting  sun  just  touched  the  horizon 
as  he  gazed,  then  sank — it  seemed  forever;  but  in  its 
place  lay  a  host  of  gorgeous  clouds  wrought  into  palaces 
and  pinnacles,  and  colored  in  rose  and  gold ;  and  above 
these  the  slender  silver  moon  peeped  timidly  out  from 
the  blue  heavens,  with  a  thought  of  Meta  in  her  arms 
for  Cyril.  She  too — this  timid,  pale  moon — was  but  the 
reflection  of  a  stronger  personality. 

As  he  looked  and  looked — feeling  a  vague  comfort  in 
the  planet  so  dear  for  ages  to  all  lovers,  though  they 
know  not  why — there  was  a  crunching  of  the  gravel 
upon  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  the  next  instant  a  man 
sprang  up  the  steep  ascent  with  a  firm,  vigorous  step, 
and  stood,  flushed  slightly  and  smiling,  upon  the  top. 
And  yet  it  was  scarcely  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  but  in 
his  eyes  it  shone  with  an  inexpressible  radiance.  He 
was  not  so  tall  as  Cyril,  scarcely  above  medium  height, 


CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD.  103 

but  strongly  made  and  glowing  with  vigorous  health. 
The  face  was  strikingly  handsome,  the  contour  a  pure 
oval,  the  features  regular.  A  full,  silky  mustache  veiled 
the  arched  upper  lip,  and  waves  of  hair  like  black 
floss  curved  across  a  broad,  low  brow.  The  skin  wore 
the  dark,  creamy  hue  of  a  ripe  nectarine  ;  the  lips  and 
cheeks  were  bright  with  health ;  the  eyes,  large  and 
clear,  were  wonderful  in  their  dark,  steady  brilliance ; 
they  were  not  eager,  flashing,  dazzling ;  they  were  quiet, 
steady,  and  sure — very  sure,  and  very  happy,  thought 
Cyril,  looking  into  them. 

To  his  surprise  the  man  came  at  once  toward  him 
and  held  out  his  hand,  in  which  Cyril  laid  his  own,  still 
thrilling  with  the  touch  of  Meta's  fingers.  There  was 
no  smile  now  either  in  the  eyes  or  upon  the  lips  of  the 
stranger;  only  a  steady  cheerfulness,  that  seemed  to 
pour  hope  and  courage  into  Cyril's  troubled  soul 
through  the  windows  of  his  eyes.  Then  the  hands 
loosed  themselves,  and  the  new-comer  turned  to  go,  si- 
lently as  he  had  come.  Cyril  hurried  after  him  and  laid 
a  detaining  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  other  stood 
perfectly  still,  with  his  head  slightly  bent  and  a  half- 
smile  upon  his  lips,  but  did  not  turn  or  look  round. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  They  call  me  Felix  Gold,"  said  the  other.  His 
voice  was  clear  and  sweet,  and  with  a  wonderful  car- 
rying power  ;  he  spoke  in  a  quiet,  matter-of-course 
tone. 

"  The  man  who  heals  the  sick  ?  " 


104  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  The  man  who  tries  to  teach  the  sick  to  heal  them- 
selves and  others." 

There  was  a  foreign  ring  about  his  voice,  but  Cyril 
could  not  determine  to  what  precise  nationality  he 
belonged.  The  hand  dropped  slowly,  lingeringly  ;  still, 
it  fell.  Without  a  look  aside,  Felix  Gold  walked  away  a 
few  steps.  i 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Cyril. 

The  man  came  back,  and  this  time  stood  facing  him. 
The  glory  of  the  sunset  had  grown  deeper,  and  the 
moon  shone  faintly,  lost  in  the  vivid  glow,  like  an 
earthly  hope  amid  thoughts  of  heaven.  Felix  Gold 
stretched  out  toward  the  beauty  his  strong  right  hand. 

"  He  who  made  it,"  he  said,  "  is  our  Father."  His 
eyes  dwelt  upon  Cyril's  troubled  face  with  the  quiet 
tenderness  of  a  mother  watching  her  sick  child. 

"  Do  you  know  my  name  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  I  do  not." 

"  "Why  did  you  offer  me  your  hand  ?  " 

"  That  you  might  know  me  for  your  brother — ready 
to  help  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  need  help  ?  " 

"  God  showed  it  to  me." 

"  Did  he  lead  you  here  for  my  sake  ?  " 

The  man's  face  glowed  suddenly ;  he  stooped  and 
plucked  a  blade  of  grass  from  the  side  of  the  hill. 
"  Does  the  sun  shine,  or  the  rain  fall,  for  the  sake  of 
that  blade  of  grass  ?  "  he  said.  "  Oh,  there  are  millions 
of  grass-blades !  Our  only  surety  is  to  go  where  he 


CRIMSON  AND  SUNSET  GOLD.  1Q5 

leads  us,  like  the  sun-rays  and  the  water-drops;  and 
with  whomsoever  we  find  ourselves  it  is  to  him  we  must 
minister.  And  yet,"  he  added,  looking  smilingly  into 
Cyril's  eyes,  "  I  knew  that  some  one  was  waiting  for 
me.  Down  in  the  valley  yonder  I  paused  to  watch  the 
sunset,  but  the  Spirit  said,  '  Best  not ;  he  awaits  thee.' 
Then  the  brambles  caught  my  clothing  and  delayed  me ; 
but  the  voice  said  again, '  Haste  not ,  you  will  be  just  in 
time.'  Now  you  know  all." 

"All?"  said  Cyril;  "who  knows  all?  Only  God. 
Was  it  two  days,  or  two  years  ago,  that  I  said  to  myself, 
'  Now  I  know  why  he  brought  me  to  this  place  '  ?  " 

"  And  behold,  you  knew  not  the  half  thereof,"  said 
Felix  Gold,  quietly,  but  with  shining  eyes.  "  Now  you 
know  more — or  perhaps  seem  to  know  less,  I  can  not  tell ; 
but  you  are  stunned,  bewildered,  by  the  revelation  of  his 
meaning.  Take  courage,  brother ;  even  yet  you  know 
not  all  his  will,  nor  shall  till  you  tread  the  golden  streets 
of  the  City ;  but  he  knows.  Will  not  that  suffice  ?  " 

Cyril  held  out  his  hand  once  more.  "You  have 
spoken  his  word  to  me,"  he  said ;  "  leave  me  now  alone 
with  him.  I  will  see  you  soon  again." 

Felix  Gold  gave  the  hand  a  strong,  tender  pressure, 
and  smiled  with  a  vividness  of  brotherly  affection  such 
as  Cyril  had  never  seen  on  human  face.  The  next 
moment  his  vigorous  steps  had  carried  him  far  away. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHAT   IS  THIS   POWEK? 

"  MR.  DEANE,  did  our  Lord  ever  do  anything  in  the 
very  least  wrong  ?  " 

A  shiver  of  horror  ran  over  the  Bible-class ;  but 
Nina  kept  those  clear,  honest  eyes  of  hers  fixed  upon 
the  teacher's  face  awaiting  reply. 

Cyril  had  been  conducting  the  lesson  with  consider- 
ably less  than  his  usual  spirit  (or  unction,  as  the  quaint, 
expressive  old  word  is),  and  felt  a  distinct  relief  when 
Nina  thus  interrupted  what  he  had  begun  to  feel  as  a 
grinding  monotony.  He  looked  up — for  he  had  been 
sitting  with  his  head  bent  on  his  hand,  listening  to  a 
paper,  by  a  young  lady  in  spectacles,  upon  the  site  of 
Capernaum — and  smiled  as  he  answered  :  '"He  was  in 
all  points  tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin.' 
Why  do  you  ask,  Miss  Nina  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  because  some  things  they  tell 
us  about  him  don't  seem  quite  right." 

"  Then  you  are  quite  right  to  inquire  into  them," 
said  Cyril.  "  What  are  they  ?  Only  mind,  they  may 
puzzle  me  too ;  I  don't  profess  to  be  able  to  explain 
everything." 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER?  107 

"  Then  why  do  you  undertake  to  teach  us  ?  "  asked 
Nina. 

"  Because  you  are  not  far  enough  advanced  to  ask 
everything — quite,"  said  Cyril,  hushing  by  a  gesture 
the  "  Oh  ! "  of  the  spectacled  young  lady.  "  But  I  shall 
be  glad  if  you  do  puzzle  me,  Miss  Nina ;  because  any 
fresh  difficulty  as  to  our  Lord's  character  or  actions  is 
only  a  door  into  some  beautiful,  new  knowledge  of  him. 
And  he  opens  every  door  to  those  who  knock.  Now, 
what  is  your  trouble  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  it's  the  Pyro-Phcenician  wom- 
an." 

"  The  what  ?  "  cried  the  spectacled  young  lady. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Cyril.  "  Syro  or  Pyro,  what's 
the  odds?  I  know  what  she  means." 

"  It  was  only  a  slip  of  the  tongue,"  said  Nina,  with 
an  indignant  glance. 

"And  a  slip  of  the  tongue,"  said  Cyril,  "some- 
times gives  us  an  opportunity  to  avoid  a  slip  of  the 
temper." 

Nina  smiled.  "  I  know  I  am  inaccurate,"  she  said 
to  the  spectacled  young  lady ;  "  thank  you  for  taking 
me  up.  I  wish  I  could  be  as  thorough  as  you  are." 

"  And  I  wish  I  could  be  as  sweet-tempered  as  you," 
said  the  other,  effusively. 

"  Come  now,  we  are  really  on  the  way  to  learn  some- 
thing at  last,"  said  Cyril ;  "  and  in  the  only  way  it  can 
be  done,  Miss  Nina — by  all  learning  of  and  all  teaching 
one  another.  I  believe  that  the  moment  one  of  us  sets 


108  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

himself  or  herself  upon  a  pedestal  as  teacher  only,  and 
the  only  teacher,  that  moment  there  ceases  to  be  either 
real  learning  or  real  teaching." 

"  But  I  supposed  all  clergymen  were  on  just  such 
a  pedestal,"  said  Nina,  bluntly ;  "  or  thought  so,  any- 
how." 

"  Very  few  of  them  think  so,"  said  Cyril ;  "practi- 
cally all  of  us  confess — at  least  privately — to  learning 
from  our  flocks  at  least  as  much  as  we  teach ;  and  in- 
fallibility is  less  the  conventional  official  attitude  than  it 
used  to  be.  They  do  let  the  poor  stork  put  his  leg  down 
occasionally,"  he  added,  laughing.  "  But  now  for  the 
Pyro-Pho3nician  woman." 

Nina  looked  down  meditatively  upon  her  open 
Bible. 

"  Was  our  Lord  making  believe,  was  he  cross  to  her, 
or  did  he  intend  all  the  time  to  heal  her  daughter  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  her  daughter  ?  "  asked 
Cyril. 

"  She  was  grievously  vexed  with  a  devil,"  said  Nina. 
"  It  was  your  sermon  the  other  day  that  made  me  think 
of  it,"  she  added.  "I  found  'DEVILS — cast  out  by 
Christ,'  in  the  index  to  my  Bible,  and  hunted  out  every 
last  one." 

"  I  wish  you  could  hunt  out  every  last  one,"  said 
Cyril ;  "  but  it  is  a  practical  sort  of  thing  to  attempt 
anyway.  Now,  do  you  think  a  devil  is  a  nice  sort  of 
thing  to  have  in  the  family  ?  " 


WHAT   IS  THIS  POWER?  1Q9 

"  Not  very,"  said  Nina,  gravely. 

"What  sort  of  mother  would  be  apt  to  have  a 
daughter — a  child,  St.  Mark  calls  her — so  afflicted  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Nina,  "  I  don't  know ;  but  may  be,  if 
she'd  been  a  very  nice  woman,  the  devil  would  have 
kept  out  of  the  neighborhood." 

"  She  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  pretty-behaved," 
said  Cyril,  "  for  she  called  after  him  almost  insultingly, 
so  that  the  apostles  were  shocked  at  her  behavior,  and 
wanted  her  sent  away." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  that,"  said  Nina. 

"  No ;  people  don't  realize  that  Bible  folk  are  real 
folk,"  said  Cyril.  "  Our  Lord  wouldn't  have  her  sent 
away,  because  it  was  her  mother-love  that  had  brought 
her  to  him ;  but  he  couldn't  give  her  anything  that  she 
asked  for  in  that  way ;  it  wouldn't  have  done  her  or  her 
daughter  any  good." 

"  Besides  that,"  said  the  spectacled  young  lady,  "  this 
woman  was  outside  the  pale.  Our  Lord  was  only  sent  to 
the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel." 

"  Then  what  was  he  doing  in  the  coasts  of  Tyre  and 
Sidon  at  all  ?  Passing  through,  of  course ;  but  he 
never  could  have  gone  through  a  place  merely  to  get 
somewhere  else !  I  suspect  he  meant  that  this  woman 
was  a  lost  sheep  of  Israel,  perhaps  the  very  one,  or  one 
of  the  ones,  he  went  there  to  look  up.  And,  moreover, 
he  said  that  to  the  apostles ;  there  is  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose the  woman  heard  him.  She  simply  stood  and 
called  out  in  her  loud,  angry  way,  until,  finding  he  took 


HO  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

no  notice,  she  came  nearer,  and  said  more  humbly, 
'  Lord,  help  me' ! " 

"  And  that  was  just  what  he  wanted,"  said  Nina. 

"  For  her  sake,  not  his ;  he  did  not  stand  on  his  dig- 
nity except  for  the  sake  of  others.  But  the  woman 
needed  to  be  brought  nearer  still,  so  he  said,  '  It  is  not 
meet  to  take  the  children's  bread  and  cast  it  to  dogs.' " 

"  That  does  sound  cross,"  said  Nina,  with  decision. 

Cyril  smiled.  "  Was  she  a  dog,  or  a  child  of  God  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  She  was  a  child  of  God,"  said  Nina. 

"  But  how  had  she  behaved,  barking  at  their  heels 
like  that?" 

"  Oh  !  then  he  only  meant  to  explain  that  he  wanted 
her  te  behave  like  the  child  of  God  that  she  was." 

"  And  she  explained  back  again  that  she  was  like 
those  wild  Eastern  dogs,  barking  from  hunger  after  the 
very  crumbs  of  the  blessings  he  scattered  around  him," 
returned  Cyrilt  •'  • 

"  And  then  she  went  home,  and  found  her  daughter 
laid  upon  the  bed — no  wonder  she  was  tired ! — and  the 
mother  was  all  nice  and  gentled  down,  and  could  nurse 
her." 

" '  Gentled  down  ! ' — that's  a  good  word,"  said  Cyril. 
"Yes;  it's  what  we  do  not  think  of,  I  fear,  that  it  is 
very  hard  to  drive  the  devil  out  of  one  member  of  a 
family  or  community.  We  are  so  bound  together,  that 
each  of  us  is  more  or  less  responsible  for  the  devil  in 
every  one  else ;  and  letting  him  into  one's  own  heart 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER? 

gives  him  a  vantage-ground  with  one's  neighbor — which 
is  a  good  thing  to  remember,"  finished  Cyril  as  he  dis- 
missed the  class. 

He  threw  himself  wearily  into  a  chair  when  they 
had  left  him,  and  took  up  a  paper ;  for  Cyril,  since  he 
had  been  a  Christian  socialist,  had  read  the  papers  as  a 
religious  duty.  Not  that  the  papers  were  in  themselves 
particularly  religious,  according  to  any  definition  of  that 
word  so  much  disputed  about ;  but  what  duty  can  be 
higher  than  that  of  keeping  one's  self  acquainted  with  the 
facts  of  the  world's  history  ?  And  one  can  often  reach 
the  facts  from  the  daily  papers  by  the  simple  process  of 
believing  the  precise  opposite  of  that  which  is  therein 
stated.  Cyril  intensified  this  process  by  reading  all 
sides  and  shades  of  opinion  ;  he  liked,  he  said,  to  keep  in 
touch  with  his  age ;  and  by  the  sudden  start  he  gave, 
and  the  pallor,  followed  by  a  deep  flush,  that  overspread 
his  face,  the  touch  seemed  to  have  been  a  very  sharp 
one. 

It  was  an  advertisement,  a  mere  ordinary  advertise- 
ment, that,  after  her  long  enforced  rest  on  account  of 
illness,  Miss  Leonard  would  resume  her  seances  upon 
such  a  date. 

Cyril  groaned.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  several 
weeks ;  he  had  felt  it  impossible  to  do  so,  after  what  had 
been  said  by  that  half -insane  old  woman  to  him  and  to 
her ;  but  he  felt  now  that  he  had  played  the  coward  in 
leaving  her,  his — nay,  Arthur's — ewe-lamb,  to  be  de- 
voured by  wolves.  Yet  she  had  had  One  with  her  who 


112  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

was  far  more  able  to  help  than  Cyril.  And  ah !  liow  he 
had  prayed  for  her !  Cowardice  ?  yes,  he  had  been  cow- 
ardly ;  but  it  was  himself  he  had  feared,  his  own  strength 
that  he  had  distrusted.  That  pitiful  cry  of  hers  had  re- 
vealed to  him  his  own  heart ;  he  had  felt  that  his  only 
means  of  keeping  the  pledge  he  had  made  her  lay  in 
absence. 

And  now  she  was  fast  in  the  toils  again,  and  worse 
than  oblivious  of  Arthur,  since  her  very  love  for  him 
was  used  to  drag  her  down  lower  than  the  earth,  and 
her  sweet  thoughts  were  given,  perhaps,  to  an  evil 
spirit — a  lost  spirit — in  Arthur's  likeness. 

He  threw  himself  on  his  knees. 

m  "  Lord,  thou  knowest  all,"  he  said ;  "  thou  knowest 
how  I  love  her.  Make  my  love  like  thine.  Help  me  to 
help  her." 

For  a  moment  he  remained  utterly  motionless ;  then 
a  thrill  swept  over  him.  He  sprang  to  his  feet. 

Felix  Gold ! 

There  was  something  about  the  man  that  differed 
from  the  rank  and  file  of  humanity,  some  power  of  in- 
sight, certainly,  into  the  hearts  of  others ;  perhaps  the 
power  of  healing,  that  he  claimed.  At  any  rate,  Cyril 
would  go  and  see ;  he  felt,  indeed,  that  he  must ;  he 
had  no  choice.  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  was  upon  him, 
strongly  and  sweetly  leading  him  thither. 

The  Nineteenth-Century  Mission  was  a  small  room, 
scarcely  even  a  hall,  upon  the  ground-floor  of  a  shabby- 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER? 

looking  building  on  a  street  which  formed  the  boundary- 
line  between  respectability  and  its  converse  in  Fairtown. 
Just  that  particular  square  was  quiet  and  perfectly  safe ; 
but  even  around  the  corner  it  was  best  to  have  a  police- 
man handy. 

The  hall  was  neatly  carpeted  and  well  lighted ;  it 
was  supplied  with  brown-painted  pine  benches,  gospel 
hymns,  and  a  melodeon.  A  platform  was  raised  at  one 
end,  and  upon  it  sat  Felix  Gold — for  the  meeting  was 
well  under  way  when  Cyril  arrived.  He  slipped  into 
a  seat  near  the  door  and  looked  around  him.  There 
were  not  many  present,  only  a  few  of  those  common 
people  who  have  ever  heard  gladly  any  good  tidings  that 
promise  to  brighten  their  dull  lives.  Their  features 
were  roughly  hewn,  their  dress  was  shabby  and  poor ; 
even  the  voices,  in  which  they  sang  their  poor  praises, 
were  uncultivated,  scarcely  musical;  yet  there  was  a 
strange  influence  upon  them  all,  and  every  face  was 
bright  with  a  strange  happiness. 

And  what  was  this  hymn  they  were  ending  as  the 
young  man  entered  ?  True,  he  thought,  as  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  words — most  true  had  been  the  leading  that 
had  brought  him  here  to-night : 

"  The  winds  and  the  waves  shall  obey  my  will : 

Peace — be  still ! 

Whether  the  wrath  of  the  storm-tossed  sea, 
Or  demons,  or  men,  or  whatever  it  be, 
No  water  can  swallow  the  ship  where  lies 
The  Master  of  ocean  and  earth  and  skies ; 
They  all  shall  sweetly  obey  my  will : 
Peace— be  still  I " 


114:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

When  the  hymn  was  over,  a  voice  near  Cyril  sug- 
gested another : 

"  He  leadeth  me,  he  leadeth  me, 
By  his  own  hand  he  leadeth  me." 

"  That's  so,  brethren,"  said  the  voice  that  had  sug- 
gested it ;  "  he's  led  me  by  his  right  hand  even  until  now. 
It's  a  mighty  wonderful  thing,  and  that's  why  I  want  to 
tell  you  about  it  to-night — the  way  he's  led  me  all  my 
life." 

There  was  something  about  the  voice,  so  soft,  so 
rich  and  full,  that  made  Cyril  turn  his  head  for  a  look 
at  the  speaker.  Yes,  he  was  a  negro,  without  a  trace 
of  white  blood ;  tall  and  powerful,  with  jet-black,  shin- 
ing skin,  and  features  but  one  degree  removed  from  the 
most  aggressive  negro  type ;  but  his  large,  liquid  eyes 
were  misty  with  a  joy  and  peace  that  glorifiied  all  his 
face  and  made  it  beautiful. 

"  Yes,  my  brothers  and  sisters,  he  leads  me  always. 
I've  had  lots  of  trouble.  I've  seen  my  children  die  off 
like  flies  in  the  hot  weather.  Sometimes  I've  been 
mighty  nigh  despair ;  but  he  kep'  fast  hold  of  my  hand 
and  would  not  let  me  go.  And  now  I  feels  him  near 
me  always.  When  I  rise  up  in  the  morning,  I  says, 
'  What'll  he  send  me  to.day  ? '  and  whatever  it  is,  sorrow 
or  joy,  I  knows  it  comes  from  him,  and  that  makes  my 
happiness." 

"  God  bless  you ! "  said  Felix  Gold,  softly,  with 
shining  eyes,  as  the  man  sat  down. 

"  It's  all  true,"  said  an  old  woman  in  a  quavering 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER  1  H5 

voice — "  all  true,  bless  the  Lord  !  He's  been  my  support 
and  consolation  since  I  was  sixteen,  and  now  I'm  past 
eighty,  and  I  couldn't  live  without  him,  not  a  minute. 
It's  all  true,  and  more  besides,  bless  the  Lord  ! " 

"  God  bless  you  !  Christ  is  here  ! "  said  Felix 
Gold. 

A  young  man  rose  next — a  stalwart  young  fellow, 
with  a  frank,  open  face.  "  It's  pretty  hard  for  a  man 
in  my  position  to  do  right,  straight  along,"  he  said. 
"  It's  not  only  that  he's  got  to  keep  down  his  sinful 
nature,  which  is  always  going  back  on  him ;  but  a  man 
does  like  a  little  fun  and  some  few  pals;  and  if  he's 
squeamish  about  how  he  amuses  himself,  he'll  have 
precious  little  of  either.  And  I  am  sure  I'd  have  gone 
under  long  ago,  if  I  hadn't  found  Jesus  ;  but  with  him 
for  a  friend,  I  can  do  without  others." 

"  God  bless  you,  brother ! — Now  let  us  sing  Hymn 
29,"  said  Felix  Gold.  " '  What  a  friend  we  have  in 
Jesus ! ' " 

Cyril's  hand  was  over  his  eyes.  It  was  not  any  one 
thing  that  had  been  said,  but  the  hushed,  clear  voices, 
rude  and  uneducated,  yet  with  a  thrill  in  them  which 
could  have  been  taught  by  no  refinement  save  that  of 
the  Spirit — this  it  was  that  had  so  moved  him.  He 
had  gone  much  among  the  poor  and  lowly ;  he  had 
believed  that  he  had  long  ago  rid  himself  of  all  super- 
cilious superiority  toward  them  on  account  of  any  ad- 
vantages that  might  have  been  given  to  him.  His  birth, 
his  social  standing,  his  education,  and  his  knowledge 


116  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

of  that  higher,  finer  morality,  which  we  call  refinement 
— all  had  been  to  him  but  implements  for  use  in  the 
Master's  vineyard.  The  poorest,  the  most  ignorant, 
the  weakest  and  most  vile,  had  been  welcome  to  him ; 
but  his  traditions  of  prayer  and  praise  had  been  those 
of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  stately  in  rhythm, 
noble  in  language,  exalted  in  sentiment ;  this  exalta- 
tion of  common  speech,  this  hushing  and  refining  of 
uncultured  voices,  under  the  sweet  influence  of  the 
Spirit,  was  altogether  new  to  him. 

When  he  looked  up  again  Felix  Gold  was  speaking. 

"  Our  advertisement  says  that  we  have  now  healing 
of  sickness,"  he  said,  "  and  surely  he  who  can  heal  us 
is  here  to-night.  We  have  felt  his  presence  and  know 
that  he  is  here.  Are  there  any  among  us  who  wish  to 
be  healed?" 

A  woman  came  forward  and  knelt  before  him.  He 
laid  his  hands  for  a  moment  upon  her  veiled  head,  then 
he  said :  "  My  brothers  and  sisters,  there  is  only  one 
sickness  in  the  world,  and  that  is  sin.  If  there  were  no 
sin,  there  would  be  no  sickness.  Jesus  Christ  can  heal 
your  sin,  therefore  he  can  also  heal  your  sickness ;  but 
he  can  only  cure  your  body  through  your  soul.  If  you 
take  medicine  for  your  body  and  let  your  soul  alone, 
you  may  be  cured  for  a  time,  but  the  disease  will 
surely  return;  but  if  you  cure  the  body  through  the 
soul,  you  are  whole  forever.  This  poor  woman  is  sin- 
sick,  sorrow-sick,  and  body-sick.  Let  us  pray  to  the 
Eternal  Father,  who  sent  his  Son  to  be  the  physician 


WHAT   IS  THIS   POWER  f  U7 

of  soul  and  body,  that  he  will  heal  her  sin,  her  sorrow, 
and  her  suffering." 

He  lifted  his  hands  to  heaven  and  prayed  fervently, 
but  there  was  little  enthusiasm  in  the  congregation; 
they  listened  with  respectful  attention,  but  that  was  all ; 
and  no  other  went  forward  for  healing,  though  there 
were  forms  and  faces  there  betraying  their  need  of  it. 
As  the  woman  turned  to  go  to  her  seat,  Cyril  saw  her 
face.  It  was  that  of  one  who  must  once  have  had 
much  of  the  beaute  de  diaUe;  now  it  bore  deep  traces 
of  many  passions,  among  which  hysteria  was  perhaps 
the  most  innocent.  It  was  very  pale,  and  there  were 
tears  on  the  long,  black  lashes ;  but  there  was  upon  it 
a  quiet  restfulness,  which  suggested  to  the  beholder  as 
his  first  thought,  "  He  has,  at  all  events,  insured  her  a 
good  night's  sleep  !  " 

Felix  Gold  was  standing  at  the  door  as  they  with- 
drew, infusing  cheer  and  hope  into  every  one  by  his 
bright  face,  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  his  "  God 
bless  you  !  Come  again  ! "  Cyril  remained  quietly  in 
his  seat  until  the  rest  had  departed ;  then  the  strange 
man  came  up  with  a  greeting  as  to  an  old  friend, 

"  You  have  tarried,"  he  said.    "  Why  ?  " 

Cyril  shook  his  head.  "  I  can  scarcely  tell  you  why 
I  am  here  now,"  he  replied,  "  unless —  Do  you  believe 
in  special  inspiration — I  mean  to  special  acts — in  what 
are  called  providential  leadings  ?  " 

Felix  Gold  surveyed  him  with  a  smile,  half  amused, 
half  tender. 


118  FKOM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  At  least,"  he  said,  "  you  did  not  change  your  coat 
before  you  came.  That  was  brave  of  you,  brother." 

Cyril  glanced  at  the  sleeve  of  his  straight-cut  black 
broadcloth,  and  then  met  his  interlocutor's  eyes  frankly 
and  sweetly.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said,  "  I 
thought  of  doing  so.  Why  not,  if  I  did  not  wish  to  be 
known  as  a  clergyman  ?  " 

Felix  Gold  laughed  outright — a  soft,  rich  laugh,  full 
of  music. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  has  kept  you  away  ? "  he 
said.  "  Just  that  same  coat — that  is  all.  God  said  to 
your  heart :  '  This  servant  of  mine  has  a  message  for 
you  ;  he  does  not  himself  know  as  yet  what  it  is ;  but 
when  you  ask  him  he  will  know.'  And  the  coat  says — 
and  the  high  waistcoat  and  the  collar  that  button  be- 
hind— these  all  say :  '  The  man  is  heretic ;  he  is  not  of 
our  Church ;  he  is  not  priest,  as  we  are ;  how  can  he 
have  message  for  us?  And  so  I  say  it  was  brave  of  you, 
my  brother,  to  bring  them  along  to  hear  the  message." 

Cyril  colored  deeply;  but  before  he  could  reply, 
Felix  Gold  went  on :  "  Come  home  with  us ;  we  talk 
more  comfortably  there.  This  is  my  wife. — Miranda, 
my  dear  love,  this  is  our  brother,  who  will  come  to  us 
whenever  he  will ;  we  need  no  other  name  for  him." 

"  I  brought  my  name  along  as  well  as  my  coat,"  said 
Cyril,  laughing.  "  It  is  Cyril  Deane,  and  I  am  not  a 
priest  as  yet,  Mr.  Gold,  only  a  deacon  ;  and  I  am  assist- 
ant at  the  Church  of  the  Transfiguration." 

" Church  of  England?    I  took  you  for  a  Catholic 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER?  H9 

priest,"  said  Felix  Gold,  with  amusement.  "  You  see,  it 
is  but  the  type  I  am  sure  of ;  the  variety,  he  escape  me." 

His  English  was  more  imperfect,  Cyril  noticed,  in 
conversation  than  in  his  formal  address  ;  but  the  young 
man  stood  like  a  rebuked  school-boy,  waiting  the  pleas- 
ure of  this  singular  person,  who  now  busied  himself  in 
turning  out  the  lights  and  locking  up  the  building. 

Meanwhile  Cyril  felt  himself  compelled,  in  courtesy, 
to  make  some  remark  to  Mrs.  Gold,  his  first  emotion  in 
regard  to  whom  had  been  one  of  distinct  disappoint- 
ment. To  begin  with,  she  was  decidedly  homely ;  worse 
than  that — she  was  commonplace  ;  "  one  of  the  people  " 
was  written  upon  every  inch  of  her  square  figure  and 
uninteresting  face.  Cyril  hardly  knew  how  to  address 
her ;  he  was  a  little  tete  exaltee,  perhaps,  and  not  in  a 
mood  to  talk  about  the  weather ;  yet  how  to  choose  a 
loftier  topic  with  this  woman.  She  looked  up  in  his 
face  at  the  moment,  and  he  saw  that  she  had  very  soft, 
pleasant  blue  eyes ;  her  voice,  too,  was  sweet  and  gentle. 

"  I  am  glad  you  told  him  your  name,"  she  said ; 
"  it  pleased  him." 

"  I  was  pleased  to  tell  him,"  said  Cyril ;  "  he  is  a 
very  wonderful  man." 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  she  said,  quietly,  but  with  conviction. 
Then  her  husband  joined  them,  and  slipped  her  arm 
through  his  own,  while  a  glance  passed  between  them 
of  utter  love  and  trust,  so  entirely  the  same  on  each 
face  as  to  absorb  all  differences  of  intellect  or  external 
appearance,  into  absolute  mysterious  oneness. 


120  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Cyril  walked  on  upon  the  other  side  of  his  host  in 
the  perfect  silence  which  at  the  moment  his  soul  re- 
quired ;  and  there  was  no  conventional  necessity  for 
conversation  laid  upon  him  by  these  two.  Their  home 
was  poor  and  commonplace  enough — three  rooms  in  an 
ugly  red-brick  dwelling ;  it  had  cheap  furniture  and 
tawdry  pictures ;  but  there  was  a  canary  asleep  on  top  of 
the  frame  of  the  most  unattractive  of  these,  and  a  wood- 
en stand  of  luxuriant-looking  flowers  at  the  window. 

Miranda  shook  hands  kindly  with  her  guest  as  soon 
as  they  entered.  "  Good-night,"  she  said ;  "  be  sure  to 
come  to  see  us  whenever  you  like." 

Her  husband  looked  after  her  tenderly  as  she  left 
the  room.  "  I  am  glad  you  are  not  a  Catholic  priest," 
he  said,  with  a  bright,  sudden  glance  at  Cyril.  "  My 
Miranda  is  so  dear  to  me,  that  I  should  grieve  if  you  so 
place  yourself  that  the  other  half  of  your  soul  may  not 
come  to  you." 

"  Are  you  talking  poetry  or  in  earnest  ?  "  asked  Cyril, 
smiling. 

"  But  is  not  poetry  earnest  ? "  said  Felix  Gold. 
"  0  my  brother,  be  free — be  free  !  Shake  off  these 
chains  of  conventionality  !  " 

"  Chains  ?  "  asked  Cyril,  inquiringly. 

"  Chains  !  fetters !  shackles ! "  said  his  host,  hurried- 
ly. "  Why,  man,  you  are  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  you 
know  it  not !  Have  you  not  asked  if  I  believe  in  provi- 
dential leadings  ?  You  do — yes  !  but  your  chains  will 
not  let  you  own  it.  And  now  you  sneer ;  you  speak  of 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER!  121 

poetry,  and  ask  am  I  in  earnest.  Think  you  the  good 
Father  will  create  a  lonely  soul  ?  Find  each  other  ? 
Not  always  in  this  life  !  Mistake  another  for  the  one  ? 
Very  often  ;  but  he  makes  them  for  each  other  !  0  my 
brother,  be  free  !  " 

Cyril  felt  thrown  back  upon  himself ;  it  was  scarcely 
this  he  had  come  for,  or  so  he  thought. 

"  You  are  very  kind — "  he  began,  in  an  embarrassed 
manner. 

"  Stay ! "  said  Felix  Gold. 

He  rose  and  stood  over  his  guest ;  there  was  no 
smile  upon  his  face  now ;  instead  thereof,  an  awful  au- 
thority. 

"  You  own,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  a  message,  a  work 
to  do  for  you ;  you  long  to  pour  out  your  soul  to  me. 
What  forbids  you?  The  devil  of  form  and  custom. 
You  will  not  break  the  chains  ?  But  I  say  you  shall ! 
In  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth,  I  bid  you  cast 
them  from  you  and  be  free.  Speak  what  you  came  to 
speak  ;  tell  out  the  need  of  your  soul !  " 

His  dark  eyes,  luminous  with  a  strange  light,  awful 
in  purity  and  selfless  holiness,  turned  full  upon  those 
of  Cyril ;  his  hand  was  outstretched. 

For  a  moment  there  was  absolute  stillness ;  then  a 
strange,  joyous  strength — his  own,  yet  not  his  own — 
lifted  the  young  man  to  his  feet,  and  placed  his  hand  in 
that  strong,  dark  palm. 

"  I  came  to  learn  of  you,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Felix  Gold,  smiling.    His  eyes  were  gen- 


122  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

tie  and  loving,  his  voice  soft  and  tender  ;  he  kept  a  firm 
hold  of  the  hand  in  his  own. 

"  What  is  this  power  of  yours — this  strange  power  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  power  of  God,"  said  Felix  Gold. 

"  Is  it  not  something — not  more — not  less —  There  ! 
you  see  I  do  not  myself  know  what  I  wish  to  ask." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?    For  whose  sake  ?  " 

"  For  my  own  and  the  world's,  and  that  of  one  be- 
sides. They  tell  me  I  have  this  power.  I  do  not  know  ; 
it  is  nothing  beside  yours." 

"  Who  tells  you  ?  "  asked  Felix  Gold. 

"  A  man — you  may  have  heard  of  him — Fritz  Her- 
mann ;  he  is  a  spiritualist,  a  mesmerist.  There  is  a  girl 
over  whom  he  has  great  power.  I  should  have  come  to 
you  long  ago  to  learn  how  to  break  her  chains,  but — 
And  now  he  has  returned,  and  she  is  faster  bound  than 
ever."  He  loosed  his  hold  of  the  kind  hand,  sank  into 
a  chair,  and  covered  his  face. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Felix  Gold,  tenderly ;  "  when  they 
suffer  for  our  sins,  these  poor  little  ones,  that  is  very 
hard.  But  courage,  brother  !  is  she  not  in  His  hands? " 

It  was  not  difficult,  now,  for  Cyril  to  tell  him  all  the 
story.  He  could  have  told  it  to  no  one  else,  but  this 
man  was  so  ready  to  hear ;  he  understood  of  it  more  than 
Cyril  himself !  When  it  was  ended  he  paused — for  he 
had  listened,  walking  to  and  fro  the  small,  poor  room — 
and  laid  his  two  hands  upon  Cyril's  shoulders. 

"  Courage,  brother  !  "  he  said  ;  "  you  will  save  her 
yet — ay,  and  that  poor,  aged,  sinful  soul  as  well.  But 


WHAT  IS  THIS  POWER!  123 

not  for  their  sakes  only  were  you  sent  hither.  You  have 
a  message  for  me  as  well  as  I  for  you  !  Behind  all  that 
you  have  told  me  I  see  dimly  a  glorious  hope  for  the 
world  :  a  new  gospel,  and  yet  the  old  ;  a  glad  tidings  of 
great  joy  which  we  shall  find  together !  Go  now  to 
your  home ;  sleep  and  be  strong  ;  for  sorrow  may  endure 
for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning  ! " 


BOOK  II. 

THE  FORGIVENESS  OF  SINS. 
CHAPTER  I. 

"  CORRECTLY   CENTRALIZED." 

"MR  DEANE." 

"  What's  up  now  ?  "  thought  Cyril,  boyishly  enough. 
"  When  the  rector  says, '  Mr.  Deane,'  matters  are  serious." 

Cyril  was  looking  pale.  He  had  been  three  times  to 
call  upon  Meta  and  her  grandmother,  and  had  been  three 
times,  upon  some  trifling  pretext,  refused  admission, 
since  the  evening  of  the  gospel  meeting.  He  felt  that 
he  had  made  some  mistake,  he  must  have  made  some 
terrible  mistake,  to  be  so  hindered  ;  and  the  thought  of 
Meta — sweet,  fragile,  confiding  Meta — whom  in  his  self- 
ish dread  of  pain  for  himself  he  had  avoided,  would  not 
leave  him.  The  touch  of  her  clinging  hands  upon  his, 
the  look  in  her  brown  eyes —  Ah  !  if  he  had  been  brave, 
if  he  had  fought  for  her  regardless  what  wounds  he 
gained  in  the  battle ;  if  he  had  set  her  free,  was  it  not 
possible  that  her  heart  would  have  turned  to  him  of 
its  own  sweet  choice  ?  For,  though  he  might  shrink 
from  pain,  Cyril  was  not  one  to  take  a  morbid  or  dis- 


"CORRECTLY  CENTRALIZED."       125 

torted  view  of  anything.  Meta  might  tell  herself  that 
it  was  her  duty  to  be  true  to  Arthur ;  Cyril  did  not 
fancy  anything  so  absurd. 

Perhaps  all  of  us  believe  more  or  less  when  we  are 
young — and  laugh  at  when  we  are  older — the  theory  of 
counterparts,  of  dual  souls,  which  Felix  Gold  had  ad- 
vocated so  strongly.  Perhaps  none  of  us  would  have 
the  courage  to  advance  the  formal  thesis,  the  birth  of 
twin  souls  from  the  dual  nature  of  the  Godhead, 
which  theosophy  calls  our  "Father-Mother."  It  is 
odd,  by-the-by,  that  theosophy  does  not  believe  in  dual 
souls  at  all,  but  holds  that  the  difference  of  sex  is 
merely  external ;  that  the  same  soul  must  pass  through 
both  male  and  female  incarnations.  And  yet  this  is 
not,  upon  longer  consideration,  so  very  odd ;  for  theos- 
ophy does  not  hold  that  man  is  made  in  the  image  of 
the  Creator,  who  created  them  male  and  female. 

Leaving  this  domain  of  metaphysics — the  unknow- 
able— it  is  very  certain  that  a  large  majority  of  human 
souls  are  still  too  undeveloped  to  demand  a  real  coun- 
terpart, another  self.  Of  those  that  remain,  a  large 
part  mistake  a  transient  congeniality  for  real  sympathy, 
and  make  unhappy  marriages ;  some  few  find  the  miss- 
ing half  of  themselves,  and  live  a  perfect  life.  But  as 
it  would  be  impossible  to  prove  that  the  true  mate  of 
every  soul  exists  somewhere,  so  it  would  be  equally  im- 
possible to  disprove  it;  and  the  theory  will  therefore 
remain  until  the  end  of  time  as  the  solace  of  the  lonely, 
and  the  glory  of  all  true  lovers.  But  what  is  very  cer- 


126  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

tain  and  can  be  defended  is  this :  that  many  marriages 
are  due  not  to  love,  but  to  a  simulacrum  or  pale  shadow 
of  it,  more  or  less  allied  to  hypnotism,  mesmerism,  or 
magnetic  influence,  as  we  choose  to  call  it.  In  fact, 
this  does  not  need  proof ;  it  is  conceded  by  the  numer- 
ous proverbs  relating  to  the  one  who  loves  and  the  one 
who  is  loved ;  the  one  who  kisses  and  the  one  who  holds 
the  cheek. 

This  latter  is  by  no  means  always  a  woman ;  men 
are  as  apt  to  be  hypnotized  into  marrying  one  whom 
they  do  not  really  love  as  are  women ;  not  more  apt, 
however.  But  it  remained  for  a  woman  to  detect  this 
state  of  things,  and  to  pronounce  that  "  no  good  man 
would  marry  a  woman  unless  he  thought  himself  the 
best  man  whom  she  could  possibly  marry."  Cyril  lifted 
even  this  to  higher  ground.  It  would  have  been  by  far 
the  easiest  way  out  of  the  difficulty  to  make  vehement 
love  to  Meta,  and  marry  her  out  of  hand ;  but  he  was 
no  sultan,  he  said  scornfully,  to  own  a  slave ;  one,  too, 
unjustly  manacled  and  given  over  to  his  power  by  the 
will  of  another.  So  used,  would  she  ever  be  truly  free  ? 
Nay,  is  a  slave-owner  a  freeman  ?  Would  not  both  he 
and  she  sink  from  depth  to  depth  of  slavery  and  degra- 
dation, until —  He  did  not  dare  to  think  of  it ! 

"  You  can  never  be  sure  that  she  is  the  one  for  you," 
Felix  Gold  had  said,  "  until  she,  knowing,  ruling,  un- 
derstanding her  own  self,  tells  you  so  ;  but  far  enough  is 
she  now  from  that,  my  brother.  Only  the  strong,  free 
soul  can  hold  so  steadily  the  mirror  of  the  heart,  that  the 


"CORRECTLY   CENTRALIZED."  127 

face  of  the  loved  shines  out  from  its  surface  unbroken 
and  undimmed  by  haste  or  passion.  And  until  you 
learn  that  she  loves  you,  you  can  not  know  if  you  love 
her  truly  ;  for  love  is  not  two,  but  one." 

"  You  are  wrong  there,  Gold,"  Cyril  had  said,  half 
sadly,  half  amused ;  "  wrong,  even  admitting  your  theory 
of  twin  souls.  For,  bound  and  fettered  as  she  is,  may 
not  I  love  my  other  self,  though  she  fail  to  recognize 
me?" 

"  It  may  be  so,"  the  other  said,  thoughtfully.  "  Ah, 
how  sad,  when  they  whom  He  created  male  and  female, 
each  for  the  other,  meet  and  pass  by  !  Yet  even  then, 
brother,  there  is  heaven  before  you,  where  you  will 
meet  again." 

It  was  small  wonder,  therefore,  that,  with  a  nature  so 
passionately  craving  sympathy,  and  suffering  so  keenly, 
Cyril  should  have  gone  often  to  the  mission,  or  that 
Felix  Gold  should  have  become  his  frequent  companion. 
There  were  great  differences  of  taste,  sentiment,  and 
education,  but  beneath  all  these  a  bond  far  stronger 
united  them.  He  did  not  always  indorse  all  that  Gold 
said,  in  prayer  or  address  ;  yet  always,  when  he  came  to 
ponder  over  it,  difference  proved  more  suggestive  than 
unanimity :  it  was  but  a  door,  as  he  himself  had  said, 
into  a  deeper  truth  than  he  had  known  or  been  able  to 
believe  in. 

Of  disapproval  of  his  course  he  had  felt  tolerably 
sure ;  but,  when  informed  of  his  first  visit  to  the  mis- 
sion, the  rector  had  been  only  amused  and  a  trifle  sar- 


128  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

castic.  Now,  however,  Cyril  was  aware  that  something 
worse  awaited  him. 

"  I  understand,  Mr.  Deane,  that  you  made  an  ad- 
dress last  night  at  that  wretched  place." 

"  I  did  speak  a  few  words,  sir,  at  the  Nineteenth- 
Century  Mission.  I  am  sorry  if  you  disapprove.  I 
thought  you  promoted  intercourse  with  the  other 
churches  ?  " 

"  You  don't  call  that  a  church,  I  hope  ! "  said  Dr. 
Lydgate.  "  A  lot  of  crazy  fanatics  !  I  thought  you 
had  better  sense." 

"  Have  you  had  personal  experience  of  their  fanati- 
cism, doctor  ?  " 

"  Doesn't  the  man  profess  to  work  miracles  ?  Answer 
me  that." 

"  Well,  it  depends  on  what  you  call  a  miracle.  He 
is  curing  one  woman,  for  I  have  seen  it  myself.  She 
comes  regularly,  night  after  night,  and  there  is  a  per- 
ceptible change  in  her." 

"  One  woman !    Humph  ! " 

"  If  he  were  an  impostor,  doctor,  it  would  be  a  thou- 
sand and  one." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  say  he  is  a  willful  impostor,"  said  Dr. 
Lydgate ;  "  I  say  he  is  a  crazy  fanatic,  though  he  may,  of 
course,  have  a  certain  power  over  nervous  diseases — a 
kind  of  magnetism,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cyril,  "  that's  just  what  I  think  it  is— 
a  kind  of  magnetism.  We  are  trying  to  find  out  what 
kind." 


"CORRECTLY  CENTRALIZED."       129 

"  That's  your  fad,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But  I  want 
you  to  give  it  up,  Deane.  Eeally,  it  is  scarcely  respect- 
able, and  is  likely  to  do  great  harm  to  the  Church." 

"  The  Episcopal  Church  ?  "  said  Cyril,  puzzled. 

"  The  Church  of  the  Transfiguration,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Cyril. 

"  Yes,  people  are  beginning  to  talk,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  and  I  must  say  I  can't  blame  'em.  Besides  that,  if  it 
gets  to  the  ears  of  the  bishop  or  the  standing  com- 
mittee, it  will  knock  the  bottom  out  of  your  ordina- 
tion, young  man  !  You  want  to  be  careful  until  that's 
over." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Cyril,  "  it  wouldn't  be  more  honest — 
would  it,  sir  ? — to  let  them  see  just  what  kind  of  a  wolf 
I  am  before  they  put  a  sheepskin  on  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  depends  on  how  you  look  at  it,"  said 
the  rector.  "  It  might  not  pay  best,  if  you  wanted  the 
sheepskin  ;  and  it  isn't  the  usual  course — or  else  their 
peculiarities  don't  develop  so  young." 

"  I  see,"  said  Cyril.  "  Well,  then,  sir,  let  me  under- 
stand you  fully.  You  positively  forbid  my  going  to 
this  place?" 

"  If  you  choose  to  put  it  so — yes." 

"  And  on  the  ground  that  they  are  schismatical  ?  " 
said  Cyril,  with  what  the  French  call  malice. 

"  Now,  come,  Deane,  you  know  I  care  precious  little 
for  that  sort  of  thing.  I  should  keep  you  within  bounds 
until  your  ordination,  for  your  own  sake,  because,  as  I 


130  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

tell  you,  we've  got  a  High-Church  bishop  and  standing 
committee.  But,  after  that,  if  you  choose  to  go  in  for 
evangelical  alliances  and  the  Church  Universal  and 
that,  and  have  the  stamina  to  fight  it  out — all  right ! 
But  this  sort  of  thing — why,  it's  all  confounded  hum- 
bug, and  you  know  it  is  !  "  cried  the  rector,  with  some 
excitement. 

"  Do  you  object  to  Gold  coming  to  my  rooms  in  the 
church  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

."  Nonsense  !  You're  not  a  baby ;  and  I  haven't  time 
to  regulate  all  your  companions,  though  I  must  say 
that  I  should  be  better  pleased,  and  you'd  be  better  off, 
if  you  wasted  no  more  time  on  him." 

"  I  shall  try  not  to  waste  my  time  on  any  one,"  said 
Cyril,  quietly,  "  and  I  will  not  go  to  the  mission  again, 
sir,  without  forewarning  you." 

"  Without  forewarning  your  grandmother ! "  said  the 
rector,  inelegantly  but  forcibly.  "Look  here,  Deane, 
what  maggot  have  you  got  in  your  head,  hey  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  ask  myself  continually,  Dr.  Lyd- 
gate.  I  am  coming  to  something,  of  that  I  feel  very 
sure ;  but  what  it  is,  I  can  not  tell  you,  or  myself 
either." 

"  Coming  to —  ?    What  nonsense  ! " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Cyril,  "  that's  what  I  say  to  myself 
too,  and  yet  I  believe  in  it  just  the  same." 

"Believe  in  what?" 

"  I  hardly  know,  sir." 

The  rector  surveyed  him  for  a  moment,  half  quiz- 


"CORRECTLY   CENTRALIZED." 

zically,  yet  with  real  anxiety ;  then  he  said,  "  If  you 
can  speak  plain  English,  Deane,  I  wish  you'd  oblige  me 
by  doing  so  now." 

Cyril  smiled.  "  You  see,  it's  all  very  hazy  to  me  yet, 
Dr.  Lydgate,  and  it's  rough  on  a  man  to  call  upon  him 
to  define  his  faith,  perhaps  to  suffer  for  it,  when  it's 
still  in  embryo.  However,  I'll  try  to  take  you  as  far  as 
I've  gone  myself." 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Dr.  Lydgate. 

Cyril  smiled,  and  the  golden  lights  danced  mis- 
chievously in  his  blue  eyes ;  there  was  a  stimulating 
quality  in  his  rector's  sarcastic  disapproval,  and  the  real 
affection  and  sympathy  that  underlay  it. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it's  true  enough  that  you  don't 
know  the  end  of  a  road  till  you  get  there.  Mine  may 
lead  to  the  dogs,  but  I  hope  not." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,  too,"  said  the  rector.    "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  begin  with,  doctor,  what's  your  opinion  of 
Simon  Magus  ?  " 

"  Proto-humbug,  and  inventor  of  simony ! " 

"  But  if  he  had  been  a  thorough,  all-around  humbug, 
would  he  have  needed  to  invent  simony  ?  Would  he 
have  thrown  away  his  money  on  the  purchase  of  a  thing 
that  he  could  simulate  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  rhetorical  figure,"  said  the  doc- 
tor ;  "  interrogation,  don't  they  call  it  ?  Go  on." 

"  Well,  it's  a  more  deferential  form  of  argument," 
replied  Cyril.  "  But  about  Simon.  I  dare  say  there 
was  humbug  in  it,  you  know ;  that  speaking  image  of 


132  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Nero,  which  tradition  says  he  made,  was  very  probably 
pure  ventriloquism — " 

"  The  image  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  the  speaking.  But  the  fact  that  he  wanted 
to  buy  the  miracle-working  power  of  the  apostles,  shows 
that  he  must  have  believed  it  to  be  a  real  thing,  and 
that  would  go  to  prove  that  he  must  have  had  some 
power  of  his  own  of  a  real  kind,  that  was  not  humbug 
or  imposture." 

"  But  see  here,"  said  the  rector,  "  you  are  all  abroad 
on  one  point.  "What  he  wanted  to  buy  was  not  the 
speaking  with  tongues,  or  the  healing  power,  but  the 
ability  to  impart  the  same  to  others.  'Give  me  also 
this  power,  that  on  whomsoever  I  lay  hands  he  may 
receive  the  Holy  Ghost.' " 

"  That's  true,  and  it's  very  striking,"  said  Cyril.  "  It 
fits  into  my  mosaic  somewhere,  doctor,  though  I  can't 
say  just  where  at  present.  Thank  you.  As  yet,  you 
know,  I  am  only  collecting  my  bits  of  marble." 

"  "Well,  your  idea  is  that  Simon's  real  power  was 
magnetic — what  there  was  of  it  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Lydgate. 

"  Using  magnetism  as  a  convenient  symbol  for  de- 
noting something  we  do  not  yet  understand,"  said  the 
young  deacon.  "  Yes,  sir.  Looking  through  the  Bible 
and  history,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  escape  admitting 
the  existence  of  some  power  of  the  kind." 

"  Moral,  or  physical  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  is  what  I  can  not  get  at,  sir — quite. 
They  say,  now,  that  hypnotism  is  purely  a  moral  in- 


"CORRECTLY  CENTRALIZED."  133 

fluence — that  is,  is  exercised  by  the  moral  nature  of  one 
person  upon  the  moral  nature  of  another.  But  it  seems 
restricted  to  certain  temperaments,  and  even  certain 
states  of  health  in  those  temperaments ;  so  I  should  call 
it  physical  also." 

"  Why,  Max  Miiller  proves — or  thinks  he  does — that 
all  our  concepts  are  formed  by  means  of  the  senses. 
Nihil  in  intellectu  quod  non  prius  in  sensu.  So, 
conversely,  it  may  be  that  a  moral  influence  must  act 
through  the  physical  nature,  and  be  more  or  less  modi- 
fied by  the  character  of  the  medium  through  which  it 
passes." 

"  Eef racted  ! "  said  Cyril,  thoughtfully.  "  You've 
given  me  another  bit,  doctor." 

"  Bit  ?  Yes,  you  are  pretty  badly  bit,"  said  Dr. 
Lydgate. 

"  I  don't  mind,  if  I'm  not  poisoned,"  said  Cyril, 
cheerfully.  "  There  were  two  serpents,  you  know,  doc- 
tor; the  sting  of  one  was  healing  and  of  the  other 
death.  By-the-by,  I  wonder  if  that  isn't  like  my 
good  and  bad  magnetism  ?  " 

"  You  Eosicrucian  !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Really, 
Deane,  you  must  not  let  this  thing  run  away  with  your 
common  sense,  you  know.  Every  one  knows  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  animal  magnetism,  and  such  a  thing 
as  moral  influence,  good  or  bad ;  but  when  you  go  to 
twisting  those  plain  facts  into  all  sorts  of  mysticism — " 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,  that  the  world  is  crying  out 
for  mysticism  just  now?  Isn't  that  the  meaning  of 


134  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

all  this  to-do  over  faith-cures,  mind-cures,  spiritualism, 
theosophy,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  ?  And,  if  so,  would  it 
not  be  a  good  thing,  if  there  is  a  scientific  Christian 
thaumaturgy,  for  the  Church  to  discover  it  and  preach 
it?" 

"  Well,  it  might  be  better  than  to  preach  it  first  and 
discover  it  afterward,  which  is  how  you  began,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  admit  that  was  unwise,  or— at  least  I 
could  not  help  it.  It  was  a  fit  of  inspiration.  By-the- 
by,  doctor,  what  do  I  mean  by  that?  What  is  inspi- 
ration ?  " 

"  Come,  now,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  isn't"  said  the 
doctor.  "  It  isn't '  can't  help.'  '  Can't  help '  is  intoxica- 
tion, like  the  Pythia,  for  example,  or  a  priest  of  Bac- 
chus. Inspiration  measures  the  temple  with  a  reed." 

"  Thank  you  again,"  said  Cyril.  "  I  see !  It  is  the 
transforming,  the  renewing  of  one's  mind  to  that  degree 
that  a  man  need  not  settle  beforehand  what  to  say,  be- 
cause he  can  safely  trust  his  impulses." 

"Just  so;  but  until  a  man's  nature  is  so  trans- 
formed, he  can't  trust  his  impulses,  and  therefore  do 
you  keep  a  strict  hand  over  yours.  There's  the  hum- 
bug of  it,  Deane;  these  faith-cure  people,  and  fanat- 
ics generally,  try  to  imitate  the  wonderful  works  of 
the  apostles,  while  they  are  miles  away  from  their  char- 
acter. And,  after  all,  it  is  character  that  is  the  main 
gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  You  can't  speak  with  tongues 
one  minute  and  speak  ill  of  your  neighbor  the  next; 


"CORRECTLY  CENTRALIZED."       135 

nor  caa  you  cure  a  man's  physical  ills  and  scorn  him 
for  his  spiritual  complaints  at  the  same  time." 

"  Is  that  why  our  Lord  so  often  began  a  physical 
cure  with  '  Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee  '  ?  "  said  Cyril. 

"  No  doubt  it  is  one  reason,"  said  the  rector. 

"  I  suppose  it's  the  subjective  side,"  returned  Cyril. 
"  Objectively,  the  disease  is  a  consequence  of  sin,  and 
therefore — " 

"  Oh,  go  away,  do ! "  said  the  rector ;  "  my  head  is 
going  around  like  a  top  ! " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cyril,  rising ;  "  but  I  want  to  ask  you 
just  one  thing  more,  doctor:  This  good  magnetism, 
personal  influence,  or  whatever  it  is,  that  comes  from 
the  transforming  of  the  whole  nature,  or,  as  theoso- 
phists  say,  the  polarizing  of  the  cells — " 

"  Moral  cells  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  severely. 

"  I  see ! "  said  Cyril.  "  Suppose  we  say  the  polariz- 
ing of  the  will,  then,  doctor.  For — " 

"  Polarize  !  polarize !  "  said  the  doctor ;  "  think 
clearly,  now,  Deane ;  define  your  terms  as  you  go  along. 
What  do  you  mean  by  polarizing  the  will  ?  " 

"  That's  pretty  hard  to  define,  even  on  the  physical 
plane,"  said  Cyril.  "  Take  a  compass-needle,  now  ;  that 
is  polarized,  and  so  points  to  the  north  pole." 

"  And  the  north  pole  of  the  earth  points  to  the 
north  pole  of  the  heavens,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  and  the 
north  pole  of  the  heavens  points —  There !  don't  you 
see,  you  land  yourself  in  a  quagmire  ?  " 

"  May  be  we  began  at  the  wrong  end,"  said  Cyril. 


136  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  The  earth's  magnetism  is  really  gravitation,  you  know, 
and  gravitation  tends  toward  the  center.  So,  perhaps 
centralization  of  the  will  is  the  proper  term.  Find  the 
center  and  fix  it ;  then  the  poles  are  free  to  determine 
themselves." 

"  Do  you  call  a  compass-needle  free  ?  " 

"  A  good  deal  freer  than  a  sewing-needle,  doctor." 

"  Well,  well,  I've  no  fault  to  find  with  your  centrali- 
zation. In  fact,  it  is  rather  striking;  for,  as  the  action 
and  reaction  of  celestial  bodies  are  measured  from  their 
centers,  so  the  centralization  of  a  human  will  implies  its 
relation  to  another,  a  Divine  Will." 

"  And  to  all  other  human  wills,"  said  Cyril.  "  Yes ; 
and  then  the  poles — that  is,  the  outward  phenomena, 
the  bent  of  character,  as  we  call  it — results  inevitably, 
and  the  orbit  determines  itself.  Well,  considering  the 
number  of  wills  self-centred,  I  do  not  wonder  that  we 
clash  occasionally." 

"Now  you  think  you've  made  a  great  discovery," 
said  Dr.  Lydgate.  "  But  don't  you  see  that  everybody 
has  known  it  all  along  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  one  can  hope  to  make  a  new  dis- 
covery in  theology,"  said  Cyril,  thoughtfully,  "  but  it 
would  be  a  great  thing  to  state  the  old  truths  in  the 
new  scientific  language.  And  I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you,  doctor,  for  reining  me  in  so  short  about  polariza- 
tion." 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate,  "  young  people  think  that 
old  people  are  fools  ;  but  old  people  know —  Will  you 


"CORRECTLY  CENTRALIZED."       137 

have  the  kindness  to  go  away,  by-the-by  ?  you  may  not 
realize  it,  but  I  have  a  sermon  to  write." 

"  I'm  gone,  sir.  It's  very  striking ;  inspiration  is  a 
transforming  of  the  whole  man,  such  a  rearrangment  of 
every  particle  of  his  moral  nature  as  takes  place  in  the 
physical  molecules  of  a  bar  of  iron  which  has  been 
what  we  call  magnetized.  There  are  natural  or  electric 
magnets.  But  this  magnetization  is  usually  produced 
by  contact  with  some  other  electrified  body,  and  really 
consists  in  a  determination  of  the  center  in  relation  to 
which  the  molecules  are  to  rearrange  themselves.  This 
center  is  the  source  of  power  and  of  freedom.  Only 
when  the  will  is  properly  centralized  is  it  really  free, 
because  only  then  can  it  find  its  proper  attitude  and 
orbit  in  relation  to  the  central  Divine  "Will.  The  fun- 
damental error  of  theosophy  is  that  it  does  not  recog- 
nize this  Divine  Center  as  a  Personal  Will,  which,  how- 
ever, can  alone  attract,  electrify,  or  magnetize  our  per- 
sonal wills.  It  all  seems  very  simple  and  familiar — 
doesn't  it,  Dr.  Lydgate  ?  " 

"  Good-morning,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  good-morning  !  "  said  Cyril,  laughing.  "  But 
what  I  have  been  trying  to  get  at  is  just  this :  the  apos- 
tles did  not  know  anything  of  polarization  or  gravity, 
did  they,  nor  of  magnetism,  as  such  ?  " 

"  Probably  not." 

"  Yet  there  was  in  themselves  some  mysterious  force, 
which  included  the  power  of  working  miracles — " 

"  Of  one  sort  or  other,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  gifts  of 


138  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

healing,  speaking  with  tongues,  or  the  interpretation  of 
tongues." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  thanks  once  more.  This  force — really  it 
ought  to  have  a  name  of  its  own ;  good  magnetism  is 
too  vague — they  were  able  to  communicate  to  others  by 
the  laying  on  of  hands ;  and  it  was  this  ability  which 
Simon  Magus  desired  to  purchase." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  sir ;  then  wherever  this  force — I'll  find  a 
name  for  it  some  day ! — wherever  this  force  is  found, 
this  power  to  transform  others  into  its  own  likeness — 
there  is  the  true  apostolic  succession." 

"  And  what  would  your  friend  Bennet  Lane  say  to 
that  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  think  he  would  say,  '  In  that  case,  you 
may  as  well  ask  your  friend  Gold  to  preach  for  you.' " 

"  But — well !  the  beauty  of  that  sort  of  apostolic 
succession  is  that  it  isn't  dependent  upon  historic  or 
documentary  evidence ;  it  proves  itself,"  said  Dr.  Lyd- 
gate.  "  But  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  be  con- 
tent with  it,  and  to  take  your  orders  direct  from  the 
Almighty,  sir ;  for,  as  long  as  we  have  our  present  good 
bishop,  if  you  get  your  name  up  for  eccentricities  of 
that  sort  it  will  be  all  the  ordination  you'll  get." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  careful,  sir." 

"  Careful  to  be  right,  and  sure  that  you  are  willing 
and  able  to  fight  it  out ;  that's  all,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate. 

"  Correctly  centralized  !  "  said  Cyril,  as  he  shook  his 
rector's  hand. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   POWER   OF   GOD. 

THE  rector's  house  was  not  adjoining  the  church, 
but  up  a  street  and  around  two  or  three  corners.  As 
Cyril  turned  the  first  of  these,  he  came  face  to  face  with 
Nina  Lydgate,  who  paused  a  moment  to  say,  with  the 
new  sedateness  that  had  come  upon  her,  "There  is  a 
little  boy  waiting  in  your  study,  Mr.  Deane,  if  you  were 
going  directly  there." 

"  I  am,  thank  you,  Miss  Nina,"  he  said. 

"  I  met  him  on  the  street,"  she  continued ;  "  he 
seemed  a  little  bewildered,  and,  as  I  happened  to  have 
the  vestry  key,  I  let  him  into  the  church.  Then  I  was 
to  see  if  you  were  still  with  papa,  or  where  you  had 
gone,  and  let  him  know;  but  I  am  glad  to  have  met 
you." 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment  and  watched  her  walk 
briskly  away  with  a  light,  springy  step.  "  How  wom- 
anly and  graceful  she  has  grown,"  thought  Cyril,  "  and 
how  neatly  she  is  dressed  ! " 

At  this  moment  Nina  looked  back,  saw  him  still 
standing,  and  paused — half -turned — he  started,  touched 


140  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

his  hat  with  a  hasty  motion,  and  hurried  away.  "  That 
was  stupid  of  me,"  he  thought. 

Yes,  it  was  stupid ;  but  men  are,  have  been,  and  will 
be  to  the  end  of  time  stupid  where  women  are  concerned. 
And  Nina,  who  had  been  a  child  so  recently,  had  been 
suddenly  lifted  up  to  the  eternal  heights  of  womanhood 
by  Cyril's  shamefaced  rebuke  upon  the  day  of  his  first 
meeting  with  Meta  Leonard.  Now,  she  hurried  on  to- 
ward the  rectory  with  a  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  sparkling 
eyes,  and  lips  a  little  apart. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  could  have  looked  back  for  ? " 
said  Nina  to  herself,  smiling  just  a  little. 

In  the  study  a  great  arm-chair  seemed  laughing  va- 
cantly to  itself  at  the  tiny,  wizened  figure  that  perched 
upon  its  edge. 

"  Hugh  ! "  said  the  young  deacon. 

It  was  a  shock ;  he  sat  down  rather  hastily,  wiped 
his  brow,  and  breathed  hard,  as  if  he  had  been  running. 
"  Is  any  one — is  there  any  trouble  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Grandma's  dying,"  the  boy  said,  quietly,  as  though 
it  were  an  every-day  occurrence ;  "  and  she  wants  you 
to  come  and  save  her  soul." 

"  And  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Oh !  she's  well ;  she's  giving  a  seance  this  after- 
noon." 

"  While  your  grandmother  lies  dying  ?  " 

"  Oh !  she  isn't  dying  any  more  to-day  than  she  was 
yesterday,  only  she  thinks  she  is ;  or  that  is  what  Fritz 


THE  POWER  OF  GOD. 

says,"  said  the  child  with  that  air  of  the  purely  com- 
monplace which  suited  so  oddly  with  the  character  of 
his  message.  "  I  climbed  out  of  her  window  to  come 
for  you,  and  you  must  come  in  that  way.  Fritz  would 
be  angry  if  he  saw  you." 

Cyril  rose  heavily ;  it  all  seemed  hopeless  enough, 
but  at  least  he  was  to  go  to  her  house — he  must  go — 
and — if  all  were  true  that  had  been  said  of  his  power 
over  her — his  eyes  kindled. 

"  We  won't  go  in  at  any  windows,  Hugh,"  he  said ; 
"  I'm  not  afraid  of  this  terrible  Fritz." 

"  Well,  he'll  be  in  the  study,  anyway,"  said  Hugh, 
philosophically  ;  "  he  doesn't  hear  much  when  he's  with 
the  spirits." 

The  front  door  to  which  they  bent  their  steps  was 
fast  closed,  as  Cyril  had  never  before  seen  it,  as  it  stood 
only  upon  occasions  such  as  this.  Hugh  pushed  it 
open,  and  led  the  way  to  his  grandmother's  room,  where 
old  Nastasia  sat,  clasping  her  knees,  and  rocking  herself 
back  and  forth  upon  the  floor,  silently  but  ceaselessly, 
with  her  gleaming  eyes  fixed  upon  her  mistress. 

"  He's  come,  grandmamma." 

Hugh's  clear,  childish  tones  were  a  strange  contrast 
to  the  terrible  cry  that  followed. 

"  For  God's  sake  !  Oh,  for  God's  sake  !  Save  me  ! 
save  me  ! " 

She  sat  huddled  up  together  upon  the  bed  ;  whether 
she  mocked  Nastasia,  or  Nastasia  her,  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  tell,  but  the  attitude  of  each  seemed  a 


142  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

hideous  burlesque  of  the  other.  She  flung  herself  to- 
ward Cyril,  and,  her  strength  failing  her,  lay  prone 
upon  the  scarlet  coverlet,  her  hand  grasping  the  edge 
of  his  coat.  "  You  have  killed  me  ! "  she  said.  "  Save 
me  !  save  me  ! " 

He  lifted  her  gently  and  laid  her  upon  her  pillows, 
with  wonderful  tenderness.  "Killed  you?"  he  said, 
smiling  upon  her,  and  smoothing  away  the  gray  elf- 
locks  from  her  brow. 

"  Hush  !  Do  you  not  remember  what  you  said  ? 
Hush  !  for  God's  sake,  do  not  say  it  again  !  I  can  not 
forget  it;  it  weighs  upon  me  night  and  day.  'Action 
and  reaction  are  always  equal ;  as  I  had  power  over 
them  on  earth,  they  will  have  power  over  me ' — 0  my 
God!" 

" — In  hell,"  said  Cyril,  holding  both  her  hands  in 
his,  and  looking  with  quiet  power  into  her  eyes.  There 
was  neither  plan  nor  forethought  in  what  he  did,  but  it 
was  given  him  in  that  hour  what  he  should  speak.  Yet 
all  his  heart,  went  out  to  her,  as  he  saw  how  she  shrank 
and  quivered  under  his  words. 

She  did  not  shriek  or  moan ;  only  she  lay  still  and 
gazed  upon  him  piteously. 

"  Yes,  hell,"  he  said  again ;  "  but  even  if  you  have 
made  your  place  there,  Mrs.  Shryock,  there  is  no  reason 
you  should  stay  there,  you  know.  Have  you  not  heard 
of  Him  who  went  thither,  innocent,  to  bring  life  even 
to  those  who  sit  in  darkness  and  in  the  shadow  of 
death?" 


THE  POWER  OF  GOD.  143 

Still,  she  only  gazed  upon  him  with  those  terrible 
eyes. 

"  It  was  the  dear  Lord,"  he  said  ;  "  and,  oh  !  how 
very  dear  he  will  be  to  you  soon,  when  you  go  to  your 
own  place — I  don't  know  where  that  is,  nor  you,  but  he 
does — and  feel  that  you  have  no  one  left  but  him  ;  that 
he  is  your  only  friend,  and  your  sole  way  of  escape." 

"  Will  they  call  me  up  here  ?  "  she  said,  hoarsely. 

"  I  dare  say  they  will  try,"  he  said ;  "  but  DOK'T 
COME ! " 

"  I  can't  refuse  !  I  can't  refuse !  You  said  I  had 
made  my  own  place." 

"  Did  I  say  you  must  stay  there  ?  You  can  refuse, 
with  the  help  of  the  Saviour ;  perhaps  you  can  persuade 
your  father  and  Henry  to  refuse  also ;  that  would  be  a 
good  thing  to  do." 

"  But  you  said  their  power  over  me  would  be  equal 
to  mine  over  them." 

"  But  that  was  the  death-power,"  said  Cyril,  with  a 
sudden  illumination;  "this  is  the  life-power  I  mean, 
and,  ah !  how  wonderful  it  is  !  It  is  stronger  than  the 
death-power,  and  drives  it  out  always ;  and  it  will  grow 
stronger,  purer,  brighter  in  you  and  in  them,  helping 
each  other,  as  you  will,  until  it  brings  you — all  of  you — 
into  the  very  presence  of  God." 

Her  features  relaxed,  and  the  terrible  look  died  out 
of  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  you're  not  going  to  die  now,  at  all  events," 
continued  Cyril,  cheerily ;  "  you  see,  for  some  reason  or 


144  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

other,  this  life-power  is  easier  to  get  hold  of  on  earth — 
I  don't  quite  know  why  just  yet — and  that  seems  to  be 
God's  plan  for  you  now — to  stay  awhile  and  get  this 
good  gift  to  take  to  them.  Go  to  sleep  now,  and  I  will 
see  you  again  to-morrow." 

Her  eyes  closed  obediently ;  but  as  Dives,  after  he 
had  prayed  for  himself,  and  had  received,  not  the  wa- 
ter for  which  he  asked,  but  the  life-power,  for  which  he 
had  not  asked,  not  knowing  thereof — was  able  to  pray 
for  his  brethren — so  now  this  woman  opened  her  eyes 
again  and  prayed. 

"  Meta !  save  Meta ! " 

"Dat's  so,  marster,"  said  Nastasia,  coming  toward 
him.  "  You  is  done  wuked  a  pow'ful  wuk  on  ole 
miss ;  now  save  dat  blessed  lamb,  what  ain't  got  no 
other  friend  but  you  an'  de  dear  Saviour." 

Without  answering  word  or  sign,  Cyril  left  the 
room.  His  face  was  white,  his  eyes  shone  strangely, 
he  did  not  feel  the  ground  beneath  his  feet,  and  though 
he  had  never  entered  the  study,  he  went  unhesitatingly 
to  its  door  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  latch. 

As  he  did  so,  there  was  a  sound  within  of  the  hasty 
moving  of  chairs  upon  an  uncarpeted  floor — then  a 
crash.  He  flung  the  door  wide  and  entered  hurriedly. 
Upon  a  couch,  beside  the  window,  lay  Meta  Leonard, 
in  the  white  robe  she  had  worn  when  first  she  laid  in 
his  that  sweet,  slender  hand  that  had  thrilled  him  so 
strangely.  That  little  right  hand  was  now  under  her 
cheek — he  felt  oddly  glad  to  see  it  so  protected ;  her 


THE  POWER  OF  GOD.  14.5 

eyes  were  closed,  her  cheek  very  white,  under  the  long, 
dark  lashes.  Her  face  was  like  the  face  of  the  dead ; 
there  was  neither  life  nor  soul  in  it,  nor,  therefore, 
peace ;  there  was  no  sorrow,  there  was  not  even  pa- 
tience; yet  was  her  look  not  vacant  nor  unmeaning; 
but  she  seemed  the  empty  mold  which  had  once  held 
a  beautiful  spirit. 

The  walls  of  the  study  were  paneled  in  oak  from 
floor  to  ceiling;  the  floor  was  the  same  wood;  there 
was  no  furniture  save  the  tall  book-cases  upon  two  sides 
of  the  room,  their  glass  doors  lined  with  green  baize, 
the  great  arm-chairs  of  solid  mahogany,  and  the  huge, 
square  library  table,  which  now  lay  upon  its  side,  with 
one  of  its  massive  legs  broken  short  off.  Around  the 
room,  in  various  attitudes  of  fear  or  defiance,  stood  four 
or  five  persons ;  among  them  Cyril  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
Fritz  Hermann. 

"  You  know  that  this  is  killing  her ! "  he  said  in  a 
low,  intense  voice  ;  "  you  know  it  is  killing  her,  and  you 
persist  in  it.  Why  ?  " 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  her,  that  you  ask  ? " 
sneered  the  other.  His  face  was  red  and  distorted  by 
agitation ;  his  strong  white  hands  were  clinched  at  his 
sides. 

Cyril  looked  steadily  into  his  eyes.  "  That  also  you 
know,"  he  said,  "  so  that  you  have  no  need  to  ask  it. 
Wake  her." 

The  man  gave  a  hoarse,  short  laugh.  "  I  ?  "  he  said ; 
"  but  why,  then,  do  you  ask  me  ?  You— this  gentleman 
10 


146  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

of  such  strong  powers — oh !  I  knew  there  was  in  the 
house  some  perturbing  element,  but  I  thought  it  that 
fool  Merton — "  with  a  glance  over  Cyril's  shoulder  at 
some  one  who  had  quietly  appeared  at  the  door ;  "  but 
with  thy  hand  upon  the  latch — "  he  spoke,  in  his 
angry  agitation,  his  native  tongue — "  thou  man  of  so 
great  spiritistic  powers  which  thou  wilt  not  use — ach ! 
how  they  were  frightened,  perplexed,  and  angry,  those 
poor  spirits !  They  lifted  the  table  and  overturned  it — 
broke  it  as  it  had  been  of  straw.  If  thou  hast  such 
power,  wake  her  thyself." 

Cyril's  heart  beat  hot  and  fast,  his  eyes  were  dim, 
the  blood  throbbed  in  his  temples;  he  turned  and 
looked  at  Meta.  In  the  midst  of  all  the  wrath  and 
excitement  around  her,  how  quietly  she  lay  there! 
Yet '  where  was  her  spirit  wandering  ?  His  impulse 
was,  not  to  wake  her,  but  to  snatch  her  into  his 
arms,  to  carry  her  far  away  from  them  all,  and  then 
— ah !  it  would  be  very  tenderly  that  he  would  bid 
her  open  her  beautiful  eyes  and  smile  upon  him.  This 
strange  double  power — the  life-power,  or  the  death- 
power — what  was  it?  Which  should  he  use  to  wake 
her  ?  He  understood  so  dimly,  so  vaguely,  the  mighty 
forces  that  lay  within  his  grasp  !  It  was  as  a  child  with 
its  finger  upon  the  small  white  knob  whose  pressure 
can  do — what?  launch  a  steamship,  explode  a  mine 
that  shall  carry  a  solid  fortress  high  in  air,  or  send  a 
word  across  the  world  that  shall  shatter  an  empire  ! 

"  If  thou  hast  such  power,"  Fritz  Hermann  had 


THE  POWER  OF  GOD.  147" 

said.  The  form  of  the  words  recalled  others.  "If 
thou  art  the  Christ,  come  down  from  the  cross."  One 
glance  at  the  pale  figure  of  his  Master,  and  the  blood 
ceased  to  throb  so  madly,  his  eyes  cleared,  the  life- 
power  thrilled  again  through  every  nerve.  He  looked 
tenderly  upon  the  white  form  on  the  couch ;  then  the 
same  glance  rested  upon  Fritz  Hermann's  dark  face. 
"  Saviour,  forgive  him,  for  he  knows  not  what  he  does," 
said  Cyril  Deane,  quietly  and  aloud,  looking  steadily 
into  the  eyes  of  the  other. 

The  wrath  died  out  from  the  dark  face,  giving  place 
to  utter  amazement. 

"  Wake  her,"  said  Cyril  Deane. 

The  man  stirred  uneasily  in  his  place;  his  eyes 
wandered  restlessly. 

"  I  will  not  at  your  bidding,"  he  said. 

"  No ;  why  should  you  ?  "Wake  her  at  the  bidding 
of  your  own  conscience.  You  had  no  right  to  throw 
her  into  that  death-sleep — " 

"  Am  I  a  villain,  to  do  aught  against  her  own  will  ? 
Ask  these  friends — " 

"  I  ask  yourself,"  said  Cyril ;  "  what  will  but  yours 
has  she  ?  Wake  her." 

"  Wake  her  thyself.     I  will  not  hinder." 

"Did  I  make  her  sleep?  For  your  own  sake, 
Friedrich  Hermann,  undo  what  you  have  done  ;  free 
not  her  only,  but  yourself.  Wake  her.'* 

"  What  is  she  to  you  ?  Go !  leave  us ;  she  will 
presently  awake  of  herself." 


148  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  What  is  she  to  me  ?  A  child  of  the  God  of  whom 
I  am  the  commissioned  messenger.  Fritz  Hermann, 
awaken  her  in  the  name  of  God  ! " 

His  voice  was  not  loud,  but  low  and  intensely  clear ; 
his  eyes  so  full  of  light  that  their  color  was  indistin- 
guishable;  he  seemed  suddenly  to  have  grown  taller; 
his  right  hand  was  raised  and  extended,  palm  outward, 
toward  Fritz  Hermann,  in  menace  or  blessing  who 
could  say  ?  For  yet  a  moment  the  man  held  out,  then 
slowly,  unwillingly,  he  looked  up — up — to  meet  those 
radiant  eyes.  Then — a  pause — the  eyes  did  not  drop 
nor  falter ;  there  was  a  hush  upon  the  room  that  might 
be  felt ; — until — 

Fritz  Hermann  took  a  step  forward — another.  Cyr- 
il's right  hand  lowered  itself  a  little,  turned,  went 
out  to  him,  as  in  welcome  ;  he  placed  his  left  hand 
within  it,  his  right  on  the  white  brow  of  the  sleep- 
ing girl. 

"  Meta,"  he  said,  gently,  "  awake,  awake,  my  child." 

The  large  eyes  unclosed  quietly,  unstartled;  and 
looked  into  the  two  faces  bent  above  her — ah!  so 
strangely  dissimilar ! 

"  I  have  done  you  only  harm,  my  child,"  said  Her- 
mann, in  a  strange,  broken  voice.  "  I  knew  it  all  the 
while,  but  I  would  not  see ;  I  have  sacrificed  you — 
health  and  happiness ;  and  what  have  I  learned  ?  What 
can  one  learn  from  spirits  too  weak  to  resist  the  influ- 
ence of  one  unfriendly  presence?  Can  such  as  they 
speak  truth,  when  my  own  will  can,  perhaps,  control 


THE  POWER  OF  GOD.  149 

them  to  falsehood?  I  have  done  with  spirits.  God 
be  with  you,  my  child ;  you  shall  suffer  from  me  no 
more." 

He  put  her  fingers  to  his  tremulous,  hot  lips,  then  he 
went  away  through  the  open  window  into  the  night. 
And  no  one  spoke  or  hindered  his  departure. 

Meta  lay  still  for  a  moment,  looking  with  large,  be- 
wildered eyes  from  one  to  the  other.  Then  she  sat  up 
on  the  couch  with  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  piteously ;  "  has  he 
gone  ?  Then  I  am  all  alone." 

Cyril's  eyes  grew  suddenly  moist,  but  his  lips  were 
firm. 

"  Not  alone,"  he  said,  "  the  Lord  Christ  is  with  you, 
and  you  have  many  to  live  for." 

"  And  I  will  take  care  of  you,  Meta,"  said  a  voice, 
as  the  person  who  all  this  while  had  stood  in  the  door 
came  forward  and  stood  beside  her — a  tall,  attenuated 
figure  with  hollow  chest,  narrow  shoulders,  and  abun- 
dant snow-white  hair. 

Meta  let  him  take  her  hand  and  draw  her  to  his 
side ;  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  closed 
her  eyes. 

"  She  needs  rest,"  said  Francis  Merton.  He  stood 
more  erect,  and  bent  a  pair  of  soft,  dark  eyes  upon 
Cyril's  face.  His  own  was  deadly  white,  but  it  was  not 
an  old  face ;  the  hair  was  silvery,  but  the  beard  upon  his 
lip  was  black  as  night ;  his  teeth  were  white  and  per- 
fect. There  was  a  strange,  rapt  look  about  him,  as 


150  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

of  a  prophet  or  seer,  yet  a  hint  of  weakness  about 
the  lips. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Cyril  with  a  kind  gesture. 
"  I  am  her  father's  friend,"  he  said ;  "  she  is  safe  with 
me." 

Cyril  went  away  silently. 

At  the  little  gate  stood  Fritz  Hermann.  "  You  have 
left  her  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  and  so  soon  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  more,"  Cyril  answered,  wearily,  "  that 
I  could  do  for  her." 

"  But  for  yourself  ?  Do  you  not  know  ?  One  word 
—less  than  a  word — the  lifting  of  a  finger — " 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Cyril.  "  The  time  has  not  come 
— if  it  ever  come — when  I  can  ask  anything  for  my- 
self." 

"  So  ?  But  tell  me,  for  I  leave  here  to-morrow — I 
shall  see  you  no  more — tell  me,  what  is  this  strange 
power  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  would  tell  you  if  I  knew,"  said  Cyril  Deane. 
"  Let  me  go  now,  for  I  am  very  weary." 

"  Ach !  yes ;  I  know  it,  this  weariness.  It  is  the 
force,  the  magnetism — the  dynamic  power,  that  you 
have  lost — used — ach!  what  know  we?  It  is  but  a 
naming  of  names!  Come,  lean  on  me — I  am  strong; 
we  will  walk  together,  and  you  will  talk  to  me  of  this 
strange  power  of  yours.  Dynamic  power,  did  I  say? 
Ah  !  what  is  dynamic  power  ?  "What  is  magnetism  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Cyril,  patiently. 

" Nein  dock;   none  of   us  know,"  said  his  friend. 


THE  POWER  OP  GOD.  151 

"  But  this  power  of  yours— it  is  different.     If  I  could 
learn  of  it,  I  would  leave  only  the  house,  not  the  city." 

Then  Cyril  looked  into  his  face  with  gray,  tired 
eyes.  "  You  see  how  weak  /  am,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  not 
my  power,  but  the  power  of  God." 


CHAPTEE  III. 

AT  THE   DOOR   OF  THE   SECEET. 

CYEIL  DEANE  was,  as  we  are  accustomed  to  say, 
"  only  human,  after  all."  I  had  nearly  used  the  words 
with  no  qualification ;  but  what  is,  what  can  be,  more 
transcendently  lofty  than  the  possibilities  that  lie  in  the 
"  only  human  "  ?  It  was  a  distinct  satisfaction  to  him 
to  reflect  that  it  was  clearly  his  duty  to  go  the  next 
morning  to  inquire  for  Mrs.  Shryock,  and  also — yes, 
certainly,  also  for  Meta.  The  surging  tumult  at  his 
heart  as  he  set  forth  to  perform  this  duty  was  not, 
however,  entirely  pleasurable;  and  it  was  with  a  sud- 
den sense  of  providential  interposition  that,  as  he 
turned  a  corner,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Felix  Gold. 

"  Come  with  me,  Gold,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  all  the 
way  if  possible ;  I  have  much  to  tell  you,  and  should 
have  looked  you  up  in  the  course  of  the  day — " 

"  So? "  said  Felix  Gold.  "  But  I  felt  it  so,  Cyril ;  I 
knew  myself  to  be  needed — somewhere.  It  is  my  hour 
for  study,  but  I  came  forth,  for  I  knew  that  some  one 
needed  me.  And  I  rejoice  that  it  should  be  the  friend 
of  my  heart." 

He  linked  his  arm  in  Cyril's,  and  fell  into  step  be- 


AT  THE  DOOR  OF  THE  SECRET.      153 

side  him  as  he  spoke ;  his  dark  face  was  very  earnest 
and  tender,  his  very  presence  was  strength  and  consola- 
tion to  Cyril,  weary  and  worn  after  the  struggle  of  the 
previous  evening. 

"  Your  hour  for  study,  and  you  are  here  ?  "  he  said, 
glancing  up  in  his  friend's  face ;  "  do  you  know  some 
people  would  say  you  are  idle — a  shirker  of  duty  ?  " 

"  And  if  I  know  myself  to  be  about  my  Father's  busi- 
ness, what  is  that  to  me  ?  "  said  Gold,  smiling.  "  *  They 
say  ?  "What  say  they  ?  Let  them  say  ! '  Is  not  that  a 
true  word?" 

"  Yes ;  but,  Gold,  I  grow  puzzled  over  it  sometimes. 
It  is  wrong  in  me  perhaps — " 

"  Not  wrong  to  be  puzzled,  Cyril  ?  " 

"  I  feel  it  wrong.  You  are  never  so.  How  I  envy 
that  calm  security  of  yours — that  trust  in  your  own 
instinct — your  confident  acting  upon  impulse  ! " 

"  But  you  also  act  from  instinct — impulse — what 
you  will  to  call  it — you  also,  Cyril." 

"  But  afterward  I  pause,  doubt,  question,  analyze. 
Why  should  I  ?  Why  can  not  I  be  like  you — as  a  little 
child  ?  " 

"  Because,  though  members  of  the  same  body,  we 
have  not  the  same  office,"  said  his  friend.  u  Do  you 
not  know  that  your  analysis  is  very  precious  to  me? 
The  instinct  may  be  all  that  one  needs  for  one's  self,  but 
the  analysis — the  scientific  acquaintance  with  a  subject 
— that  is  very  good  to  help  other  people.  If  I  have  a 
pain  in  my  head — me  ! — I  know  it  by  what  you  call 


154  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

instinct ;  but  if  I  have  scientific  knowledge  of  the  causes 
of  headache,  then  when  your  face  is  pale  and  your  eyes 
blood-shot,  I  say :  '  My  friend,  you  suffer  ;  can  I  help 
you  ? ' " 

"Ah!  if  analysis  help  one  to  help  others,"  said 
Cyril. 

He  told  his  friend  all  that  had  happened  at  the  Her- 
mitage the  night  previous. 

"  Poor,  poor  girl !  "  he  said  ;  "  poor,  broken  flower  ! 
Gold,  if  I  had  but  put  out  a  hand  to  her  she  would 
have  come  to  me;  and  I  should  not  have  abused  my 
power,  I  should  have  asked  nothing  for  myself — I  should 
have  brought  her  to  you — " 

"  How  know  you  that  you  would  have  asked  noth- 
ing for  yourself  ?  You  had  no  right  to  hold  out  even 
a  finger — to  make  any  claim  at  all  upon  her — unless 
you  claimed  all ;  and  he  who  yields  a  little  may  yield 
more." 

"  But  to  leave  her  there — " 

"  Where  her  father  placed  her,"  said  Gold.  "  Your 
impulse  was  right.  Do  not  torment  yourself. " 

"  But  why  was  it  right  ?  It  will  not  always  do  to 
yield  to  impulse,  Gold.  So,  men  have  murdered — 
worse  than  murdered  !  And  there  is  no  time  to  reason 
about  it." 

Gold's  reply  was  to  aim  a  swift,  light  blow  at  his 
friend's  face.  "Why  did  you  dodge  and  wink?"  he 
demanded,  laughing. 

"  There  it  is,  you  see ;  that  was  instinct.     Keason 


AT  THE  DOOR  OP  THE   SECRET.  155 

would  have  told  me  that  you  would  not  and  could  not 
hurt  me.'' 

"  And  there  is  just  a  possibility  that  reason  might 
have  been  mistaken,  whereas  your  impulse  was  correct, 
for  I  struck  you,  though  not  hard.  Some  there  are, 
Cyril,  who  speak  of  the  involuntary  action  of  the 
muscles;  others  say  that  intuition  is  but  a  swifter 
method  of  reasoning.  Are  the  two  statements  related  ? 
You  should  know,  better  than  I." 

"  Is  it  not  unworthy  of  a  man's  dignity  to  allow  any 
action  of  his  to  be  involuntary  ?  "  asked  Cyril  slowly. 
"With  an  infant  all  actions  are  so;  it  does  not  know 
why  it  winks  at  the  light ;  it  can  not  control  the  mo- 
tions of  hands,  feet,  or  head.  Gradually,  the  man 
acquires  control  over  a  certain  set  of  muscles,  until  he 
attains  a  limit  fixed  by  the  consent  of  thousands  of 
generations,  beyond  which  all  movement  is  conceded  to 
be  involuntary.  But  is  there  any  reason  why  we  should 
never  pass  that  limit  ?  Nay,  we  know  already  that  we 
can  go  a  hair's  breadth  beyond  it.  For  breathing  is 
one  of  these  involuntary  actions ;  yet  up  to  a  certain 
point  a  man  can  hold  his  breath.  And  if  we  may 
control  the  actions  of  the  lungs,  why  not  those  of  the 
heart?  why  not  the  circulation  of  the  blood — every 
change  and  transformation  in  the  fluids  and  tissues  of 
these  wondrous  bodies  of  ours?" 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  why,"  said  Gold.  "  Men 
learned  to  hold  their  breath  to  save  themselves  from 
drowning,  perhaps,  or  to  dive  for  pearls ;  but  when  it 


156  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN, 

became  troublesome  and  painful  to  them  they  invented 
a  machine.  And  it  is  easier  to  invent  a  machine,  my 
Cyril,  than  to  bring  the  whole  man  under  obedience  to 
the  power  of  God." 

"  The  power  of  God !  The  very  words  I  used  to 
Fritz  Hermann,"  said  Cyril. 

"  So !  And  they  are  true  words,  my  Cyril.  See  you 
not  how  this  explains  your  impulse  ?  It  is  the  life 
within  that  closes  your  eyes  at  the  approach  of  danger 
to  your  sight — life  which  cares  for  you  when  you  have 
not  learned  to  care  for  yourself.  And  what  is  life  but 
the  power  of  God  ?  So,  in  your  character,  in  your  words 
and  deeds,  you  have  involuntary  movements — impulses, 
instincts,  intuitions — what  you  will.  It  is  the  part  of 
a  child  to  obey  them  blindly,  unreasoningly ;  but  the 
man  questions,  analyzes,  classifies,  that  he  may  raise 
them  to  voluntariness,  that  he  may  fuse  his  will  with 
the  life  within  him,  which  is  the  divine  will." 

"  Such  fusion  would  be  the  annihilation  of  sickness, 
of — "  He  paused,  aghast  almost  at  the  awfulness  of 
the  thought  that  had  come  to  him. 

"  '  Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory,' "  said  Felix 
Gold  quietly,  though  his  eyes  shone.  "  '  0  death,  where 
is  thy  sting  ?  0  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  The  sting 
of  death  is  sin ;  and  the  power  of  sin  is  the  law.  But 
thanks  be  to  God,  which  giveth  us  the  victory  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  " 

" '  The  power  of  sin  is  the  law  ? ' "  repeated  Cyril 
inquiringly. 


AT  THE  DOOR  OF  THE  SECRET.      157 

"  Ay.  You  see  you  must  obey  your  impulses 
though  they  may  seem  contrary  to  law.  To  a  good 
law  they  can  not  be  contrary ;  to  a  bad  one  they  ought 
to  be.  Any  way,  the  leading  of  the  Spirit  within  you 
must  be  supreme." 

"  But  that  is  a  dangerous  doctrine,  Gold." 

"  Truth  is  always  dangerous,"  said  Felix  Gold. 

"  But  all  the  fanaticisms  of  the  world  have  started 
out  from  that  point.  Preach  that  doctrine,  and  you 
open  the  door  at  once  to  a  million  vagaries,  wild- 
nesses — " 

"  The  door  of  what  ? "  asked  his  friend.  "  Christ 
says,  '  I  am  the  door ' ;  and  there  is  no  other." 

"  You  make  a  breach  in  the  wall,  then,"  returned 
Cyril,  "  by  which  thieves  and  robbers  may  enter." 

"  Alas  !  the  breach  is  made  to  our  hand,"  returned 
Felix  Gold,  "  and  for  centuries  men  have  stolen  into 
the  fold  thereby.  But  why  should  I  say  alas!  Did 
not  Christ  know?  Truly,  he  warned  his  followers 
against  such,  and  gave  them  a  test  to  know  the  true 
from  the  false.  '  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them  ' ; 
and  by  our  own  fruits  may  we  know  ourselves.  And 
'  the  fruit  of  the  spirit,'  says  Paul, '  is  love,  joy,  peace, 
long-suffering,  gentleness,  goodness,  faith,  meekness, 
temperance.'  If  these  ripen  from  the  life  within  you, 
my  brother,  trust  it ;  let  it  lead  you  whither  it  will.  If 
not,  it  is  not  the  power  of  life  unto  life,  but  of  death 
unto  death.  We  may  not  be  able  to  reason  correct- 
ly as  to  the  wisdom  or  the  ethics  of  such  and  such 


158  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

a  course,  but  we  can  know  whether  we  love  our  ene- 
mies." 

"  May  we  not  deceive  ourselves  ?  " 

"  Only  voluntarily  and  deliberately,  I  think ;  at  least 
for  any  length  of  time,"  said  Felix  Gold ;  "  and  we 
have  no  defense  against  our  own  perverted,  enslaved 
will,  falsely  called  free.  We  may  will  to  be  true  or  to 
be  false ;  and  as  we  will  we  are." 

"  Impulse  in  action,  intuition  in  knowledge,  inspi- 
ration— Gold,  can  you  help  me  once  more  ?  What  is 
inspiration  ?  " 

"  A  breathing  in,"  said  Gold,  "  of  good  or  bad  air, 
as  we  choose ;  for  we  may  choose — the  fine,  sweet  air  of 
the  hills  of  God,  or  the  low,  death-laden  fumes  of  the 
valley  of  sin.  To  breathe  the  Spirit,  the  power  of  God, 
is  to  be  transformed  into  his  likeness,  so  that  we  think 
his  thoughts,  speak,  write  his  words,  and  do  his  works. 
Cyril,  the  error  in  all  these  fanaticisms  of  which  you 
have  spoken  is  that  they  have  neglected  this  test  of  sin- 
cerity :  that  as  the  bramble-bush  can  not  bring  forth 
grapes,  neither  may  the  fig-tree  bear  thorns.  Wrath, 
strifes,  envyings,  and  the  like,  are  not  the  fruit  of  the 
Spirit.  Cyril,  there  was  love  in  your  heart  toward  the 
man  who  had  well-nigh  slain  the  maiden  who  is  so 
tenderly  dear  to  you ;  you  chose  to  save  her  through 
him,  which  was  to  save  him  as  well  as  'her — to  invoke 
the  life-power  to  drive  out  from  both  the  death-power. 
My  friend,  you  have  done  well.  What  there  is  in  your 
action  that  we  do  not  understand  will  yet  be  made 


AT  THE  DOOR  OF  THE  SECRET.      159 

clear.  The  hand  of  God  upheld  you,  and  his  voice 
directed  you." 

"  This  life-power — what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  It  may  be  that  Fritz  Hermann  can  help  us  to  dis- 
cover," said  Felix  Gold  softly. 

Cyril  started.  "  But  Miss  Leonard,"  he  said,  "  and 
his  power  over  her — ah !  you  mean  it  is  still  he  who 
must  save  her  ?  " 

"  Only  he  can,"  said  Felix  Gold.  "  Distance,  my 
friend — what  is  that  to  the  death-power  ?  " 

"  But  during  his  last  absence — " 

"  That  is  true.  She  was  freer,  stronger,  better, 
because  his  mind  was  otherwise  occupied,  and  he  took 
no  thought  of  her.  But  she  was  still  his  slave,  Cyril — 
she  who  should  be  Christ's  free- woman." 

"  You  are  always  right,  Gold,"  said  Cyril  brokenly. 
They  had  now  reached  the  gate  of  the  Hermitage,  and 
he  spoke  with  his  hand  upon  the  bell  and  his  face 
turned  away.  "  And  I  am  quite  willing  that — that 
any  one —  Why,  I  would  leave  here  to-day,  and  never 
see  her  again,  if  that  were  best  for  her.  I  would — 
Well,  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  extravagant — " 

"  There  is  no  need,  Cyril,"  said  Felix  Gold  gently ; 
"  no  need,  brother.  I  understand." 

"  Will  you  come  in  ?  "  asked  Cyril,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  I  wish  you  would,  Gold  ;  I  feel  so  weak  and 
broken  to-day." 

" '  As  thy  day  so  shall  thy  strength  be,'  Cyril.  But 
I  will  come  in.  It  may  be  there  is  work  for  me  here ; 


160  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

at  the  least,  I  may  await  and  be  ready,  if  it  be  but  to 
give  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  some  little  one.  I  will  not 
intrude  myself ;  I  will  wait  in  the  room  where  any  guest 
may  enter,  but  I  will  come  in.  May  Christ  enter  with 
us  two." 

And  yet,  when  he  had  said  the  words,  the  heart  of 
Felix  Gold  reproached  him.  Was  not  Christ,  then,  al- 
ways present?  But  it  was  into  the  hearts  of  the  in- 
dwellers  that  he  would  have  entered  if  he  could ;  and 
that  temple  is  entered  by  the  Lord  Christ  continually, 
until  he  takes  up  his  abode  there  to  dwell  within  it 
eternally.  Kemembering  which,  the  soul  of  the  man 
rejoiced  and  was  glad. 

He  sat  very  still  in  the  large,  low-ceilinged  parlor, 
rather  chill  and  dreary,  although  the  December  sun- 
shine did  its  best  to  brighten  it.  There  was  a  carpet  of 
warm  tints  upon  the  floor,  heavy  curtains  hung  at  the 
windows,  and  the  crimson  upholstery  had  been  freed 
from  its  linen  coverings ;  yet,  in  spite  of  these  accesso- 
ries, and  the  soft-coal -fire  in  the  open  grate,  the  room 
looked  desolate  and  deserted,  and  beyond  the  open  door 
into  the  study  could  still  be  seen  the  ruins  of  the  massive 
overturned  table. 

"That's  what  the  spirits  did,"  said  a  small  voice. 
Felix  Gold  turned  quickly,  then  held  out  his  arms,  with 
a  smile  of  infinite  tenderness. 

"  So ! "  he  said,  as  Hugh  climbed  upon  his  knee 
and  nestled  contentedly  against  him ;  "  so  it  is  you  !  I 
felt  there  was  work  for  me." 


AT  THE  DOOR  OF  THE  SECRET.      161 

"  Yes,  it  is  Hugh,"  said  the  child.  "  How  did  you 
know  my  name  ?  Are  you  the  man  that  makes  people 
well  ?  Could  you  make  me  well  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  deep  voice  gently.  "  At  the 
least,  I  can  bring  thee  to  the  Lord  Christ,  poor  little 
one.  He  is  the  only  Physician." 

"  Is  he  ?  Could  he  heal  grandmamma  ?  She  doesn't 
want  to  die — or,  at  least,"  added  the  child,  "  she  didn't. 
I  think  she  does  not  care  so  much  now.  Mr.  Deane  has 
made  her  more  willing." 

"Not  Mr.  Deane— Christ,"  said  Felix  Gold.  He 
looked  down  into  the  wizened  little  face  upon  his 
breast,  and  smiled  once  more  as  he  drew  the  boy  closer. 
Hugh  lay  and  gazed  at  him  with  his  great  eyes,  as 
though  he  were  trying  by  their  means  to  absorb  a  little 
vitality  from  the  vigorous  personality  that  enfolded  him. 

"  One  has  not  yet  learned  to  cure  old  age,"  said 
Felix  Gold ;  "  it  is  still  to  come,  that  knowledge.  In 
truth,  one  knows  very  little.  Once  I  thought  we  had 
but  to  pray  to  the  dear  Lord ;  yet  even  he  had  different 
methods  for  various  diseases.  He  put  his  finger  into 
the  ears  of  the  deaf  man ;  he  spat  and  touched  the 
speechless  tongue  ;  he  made  clay  and  anointed  the  eyes 
of  the  blind.  Cyril  will  analyze,  he  will  discover  the 
secret  of  all  these  things,  but  with  a  little  one  like  thee 
one  can  not  go  far  wrong." 

He  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  boy's  wide  forehead. 
"  Dost  thou  believe,  little  Hugh,  that  the  Lord  Christ 
can  heal  thee  ?  "  he  asked. 
11 


162  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child  unhesitatingly.  "  Will  he 
make  me  as  strong  as  other  boys  ? "  he  added,  after  a 
pause. 

"  As  other  boys  ?  "  said  Felix  Gold.  "  That  I  do  not 
know,  my  child.  As  other  men — as  strong  as  I  ?  Yes, 
if  you  will  it  so — not  quite  so  big,  perhaps ;  one  can  not 
tell,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  But  all  things  are  possible 
at  thy  age.  See,  I  will  tell  thee.  Sickness — what  is  it 
but  sin  ?  Leave  off  sin,  and  sickness  flees  with  it.  That 
is  the  great  general  truth,  but  for  each  sick  man  and 
each  sinner  it  is  limited  by  many  particulars.  More- 
over, there  are  sins  against  the  body  and  sins  against 
the  soul,  and  one  may  practice  one  of  these  classes  with- 
out the  other :  as  that  a  man  may  be  avaricious  or  un- 
loving, and  yet  maintain  his  body  in  perfect  health ;  or 
he  may  overwork — wear  out  his  body ;  he  may  live  amid 
unhealthy  surroundings,  he  may  be  forced  by  poverty 
to  feed  upon  food  that  is  unwholesome,  yet  his  soul 
may  be  clean  and  pure  as  the  soul  of  a  little  child.  Or 
he  may  inherit  the  sins  of  his  forefathers  in  the  form  of 
sickness  and  pain  which  they  never  felt.  But  a  little 
child  who  resolves  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  sin,  either 
against  soul  or  body,  may  grow  to  be  a  strong  and  vig- 
orous man.  Do  you  believe  this,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy  once  more. 

"  With  those  who  are  older  it  is  hard,"  said  Felix 
Gold.  "  When  sins  against  body  or  soul  take  such 
forms  as  consumption  or  dyspepsia  they  are  hard  to 
cure.  It  can  be  done,  I  am  sure.  One  day  we  shall 


AT  THE  DOOR  OP  THE  SECEET.  163 

learn  how ;  meanwhile,  it  is  hard.  But  at  thy  age  all 
things  are  possible.  Kneel  here  with  me." 

He  put  the  boy  from  his  arms ;  they  knelt,  facing 
each  other,  on  the  floor ;  the  man  held  the  two  poor, 
thin  hands  fast  in  his,  so  brown  and  vigorous ;  their 
eyes  were  fixed,  each  on  those  of  the  other ;  then  Felix 
Gold  looked  upward  and  outward  to  the  December  sky, 
but  the  eyes  of  the  child  still  rested  upon  his,  in  utter 
faith  and  trust,  and  as  if  beholding  there,  as  in  a  mir- 
ror, some  of  the  glories  unveiled  to  that  triumphant 
gaze. 

"Father  of  all,"  said  Felix  Gold,  "Jesus  Christ,  son 
of  the  Father,  thy  will  is  not  that  any  should  perish, 
but  that  all  should  have  eternal  life.  Pour  that  life 
into  the  soul  of  this  little  one,  that  he  may  live  to 
thee  both  with  body  and  soul.  Keep  him  in  perfect 
health ;  drive  away  all  sickness  and  pain  far  from  him, 
for  these  are  not  of  thy  laws,  but  the  consequences  of 
thy  broken  laws.  Thus,  only  in  perfect  health  may  thy 
will  be  truly  done.  And  yet,  0  our  Physician,  we  do 
not  ask  for  sudden  or  immediate  healing.  Shall  not  we 
leave  to  thee  the  application  of  thine  own  remedies? 
Pain  is  not  merely  the  consequence — it  is  the  remedy  for 
sin ;  it  is  thy  sheep-dog,  dear  Lord,  to  bring  us  back  to 
our  only  Shepherd.  Therefore,  until  we  return  indeed 
to  thee  with  all  our  heart  and  soul  and  mind,  let  pain 
still  pursue  us,  bark,  bite,  and  worry  us,  that  we  may 
flee  to  thee  for  succor  and  protection.  But  this  dear 
child,  0  Lord,  who  seems  to  us  so  pure  and  sinless,  has 


164:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWK 

not  the  sheep-dog  already  brought  him  to  thy  bosom  ? 
Thou  knowest;  we  do  not  know.  Keep  him  in  thine 
arms,  Lord,  for  there  alone  is  health  and  safety." 

As  if  by  a  sudden  impulse  of  tenderness,  he  drew  the 
child  close  to  his  breast,  bowed  his  head  over  him,  and 
so  remained  for  several  moments.  When  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  with  the  child  still  in  his  arms,  he  found  that  his 
prayer  had  reached  more  ears  than  he  had  known ;  for 
in  the  room  stood  Cyril  Deane,  Francis  Merton,  Fritz 
Hermann,  and  old  Nastasia,  at  sight  of  whom  Hugh 
slipped  away  from  his  new  friend  and  ran  toward  her 
joyously. 

"  Nastasia,  Nastasia,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  know  I  am 
to  be  well  and  strong?  Mr.  Deane,  do  you  hear?  A 
strong,  healthy  man,  as  strong  as  lie.  Will  it  not  be 
delightful  to  be  strong?  Do  you  see  how  well  I  am 
now  ?  "  And,  indeed,  there  was  a  sparkle  in  the  eyes,  a 
flush  on  the  thin  cheek,  a  spring,  a  buoyancy  about  the 
wizened  figure,  that  were  very  unlike  little  Hugh 
Leonard. 

"  First  of  all,  you  are  to  be  a  good  boy,  if  you  are  to 
be  a  well  boy,"  said  Felix  Gold,  smiling.  He  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  face  of  old  Nastasia,  down  whose  withered 
cheek  the  tears  were  slowly  stealing.  "  You  heard  the 
prayer  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Dat  I  did,  marster,"  she  replied. 

"And  you  believe  that  Christ  can  make  the  boy 
strong  and  well  ?  " 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  would 


AT  THE  DOOR  OP  THE  SECRET.      165 

have  been  indignation  had  they  not  been  so  full  of  ad- 
miration. 

"  Marster,"  she  said,  "  sometimes  I  hears  folks  say 
dat  dis  con j 'in'  business  is  all  foolishness  and  supisti- 
tion ;  but  ole  Nastasia  knows  better  dan  dat,  marster. 
It  may  be  wickit  for  one  nigga  to  conjah  anudder,  but 
it  kin  be  done,  kase  why,  1'se  done  seen  it.  I'se  seen 
um  pine  away  an'  die,  marster,  jest  kase  dey  wuz  con- 
jah'd,  an'  fur  nuffin  else,  an'  dat's  a  fac'.  So,  dough  I 
ain't  nebber  seen  nobody  conjah 'd  into  health  an'  good- 
ness— kase  dat  ar  wuk  ain't  for  no  ign'ant  nigga,  sah; 
dat  takes  a  gemplum  like  you — yit  I  knows  it  kin  be 
done,  sah,  and  dat  only  in  de  name  o'  de  Lawd  Jesus 
Christ,  marster." 

"  Then,  you  will  gladly  help,"  said  Felix  Gold.  "  A 
child  like  that  needs  help  from  us  who  are  older ;  they 
suffer  a  life-time,  often,  from  our  sins  against  their 
bodies.  Therefore,  you  will  take  him  with  you  and 
give  him  to  eat — a  great  bowl  of  porridge,  I  think,  or 
of  milk  and  bread. — Ha,  Hugh,  wilt  thou  eat  a  great 
bowl  of  milk  and  bread,  hot — with  no  sugar — for  the 
love  of  the  dear  Lord  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will ;  I  am  hungry,"  said  the  boy,  dancing 
from  one  foot  to  the  other,  as  he  clung  to  Nastasia's 
hand,  in  a  more  gay  and  childlike  way  than  had  ever 
been  seen  in  him  before. 

"  And  then  thou  wilt  sleep  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  not  sleepy,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Learn  to  be  sleepy  when  thou  wilt,  to  sleep  when 


166  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

thou  mayst,"  said  the  other.  "  Lie  down  upon  thy 
little  bed,  say  thy  prayer,  and  fix  thy  mind  upon  the 
good  Shepherd,  who  gathers  the  lambs  in  his  arms  and 
carries  them  in  his  bosom,  and  sleep  will  come.  Wilt 
thou  do  this  ?  Then  come  first  and  kiss  me.  Now  the 
Lord  bless  thee  and  heal  thee  !  Good-by." 

He  turned  to  the  others  when  the  boy  had  left  the 
room;  there  was  a  light  upon  his  face,  a  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  shore ;  but  as  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  face  of  Cyril  Deane  he  saw  that  it  was  pale  and 
worn,  as  if  from  suffering.  Felix  Gold  threw  an  arm 
across  his  friend's  shoulders,  boyishly  enough,  but  put 
his  question  to  the  others : 

"  Mrs.  Shryock,  Miss  Leonard — how  are  they  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Shryock  sleeps,"  said  Francis  Merton ;  "  it  may 
be  that  she  will  pass  away  without  waking,  and  so 
death  will  be  robbed  of  its  terrors.  So,  at  least,  her 
physician  thinks  and  hopes." 

"  And  Miss  Leonard  ?  " 

"  "Will  see  no  one,"  he  said  gravely ;  "  not  even  me. 
Nastasia  reports — for  she  would  not  be  denied — that  her 
young  mistress  lies  still,  cold,  pale,  yet  her  pulse  is  good, 
and  she  has  eaten  food — not  much,  but  enough.  It  is 
a  case  that  puzzles  one,  but  for  the  present  we  can  but 
let  her  alone." 

"  I  fancy,"  said  Cyril  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  down- 
cast eyes,  "  that  she  misses  the  stimulus  of — of — our — 
friend's,  Herr  Hermann's,  will-power.  He  has  with- 
drawn it  rather  suddenly,  and  her  own  is  so  enfee- 


AT  THE  DOOR  OP  THE  SECRET.      167 

bled  by  disease —  But  what  do  we  know  of  these 
things?" 

"  We  have  learned — or  should  have  learned — enough 
to  teach  us  not  to  intermeddle,"  said  Francis  Merton 
sternly.  "  When  I  sent  for  you,  some  months  ago,  Her- 
mann, to  share  with  you  the  truth  that  had  been  re- 
vealed to  me,  did  I  not  warn  you  against  a  rash,  un- 
scientific use  of  this  power  of  yours  which  we  call  mag- 
netism ? — against  intercourse  with  influences  which  are 
not  beings^  but  shells — " 

"  There,  I  protest ! "  cried  Fritz  Hermann.  "  Shells  ? 
No  !  I  can  not  believe  it." 

"  And,"  said  Cyril  Deane,  "  can  there  be  a  proper 
scientific  use  of  such  power  as  Herr  Hermann's." 

"  Has  not  your  friend  just  given  us  an  example  of 
it  ?  "  asked  Merton.  "  Not  entirely  scientific,  perhaps, 
since  he  made  use  of  unnecessary  terms  and  formulas  ; 
still,  not  wwscientific,  for,  without  doubt,  the  Christ  was 
one  of  the  enlightened,  though  he  accomplished  but 
eleven  of  the  twelve  labors.  Buddha  achieved  them 
all." 

"  Unscientific,  because  I  used  the  name — because  I 
prayed  to — the  Lord  Christ  ?  "  said  Felix  Gold,  looking 
steadfastly  upon  the  other ;  "  but  I  say  unto  you,  friend, 
whose  name  I  know  not,  that  there  is  no  science  of 
healing,  or  of  magnetism,  or  of  astronomy,  or  of  aught 
else,  but  in  and  of  Jesus  Christ.  '  For  all  things  were 
made  by  him ;  and  without  him  was  not  anything  made 
that  was  made.' " 


168  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Francis  Merton  smiled  in  a  sad,  superior  way,  and 
shook  his  head,  but  Felix  Gold  caught  both  of  Cyril's 
hands  in  his  own. 

"  Brother,"  he  said,  "  be  of  good  cheer,  for  we  stand 
now  at  the  very  door  of  the  great  secret.  '  I  am  the 
door,'  says  Christ." 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

VITALISM. 

IT  was  not  long,  as  we  count  time,  that  Mrs. 
Shryock  was  left  in  this  world  to  gain  the  life  which 
Cyril  had  told  her  it  might  be  her  business  to  carry  with 
her  to  the  help  of  those  gone  before.  Not  long ;  but 
has  eternal  life  aught  to  do  with  time?  It  is  the 
readiness  to  receive,  that  is  all ;  mere  time  is  nothing ; 
and  the  soul  of  the  woman  had  hungered  desperately, 
though  she  knew  not  what  she  would  have. 

Scarcely  an  hour  had  passed  since  the  little  hands  of 
Hugh  had  been  clasped  in  those  of  Felix  Gold,  when 
Mrs.  Shryock,  as  she  lay  upon  her  bed,  lonely  save  for 
the  presence  of  old  Nastasia,  opened  her  eyes  and  fixed 
them  upon  those  of  the  old  negress,  who  hurried  to  her 
side  with  the  cordial  the  doctor  had  ordered  for  her 
waking. 

"  Here,  honey,  here's  your  medicine,"  she  said,  and 
put  the  spoon  to  her  lips,  but  the  red  fluid  ran  out  upon 
the  pillow,  where  it  lay  like  a  stain  of  life-blood. 

"  Can't  swaller — can't  swaller,  my  Lawd  ! "  said  the 
old  woman,  shaking  her  head  mournfully.  "  Guess  ole 
Nastasia  knows  what  dat  ar  means.  Honey,  Marse 


170  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Cyril  Deane  right  dar  in  de  study,  'long  o'  dem  udder 
folks.  Shill  I  call  him  to  pray  fur  your  po'  soul,  ole 
Miss  ! " 

But  the  old  woman's  claw-like  fingers  had  clasped 
her  wrist  in  the  death-grip.  They  would  not  be  loosed. 
The  eyes  were  fixed  upon  hers.  Nastasia  could  not 
translate  that  look ;  it  was  not  terrible  or  full  of  shud- 
dering fear,  as  those  eyes  had  been  so  lately,  but  mourn- 
ful, solemn,  appealing,  awe-full. 

"  Yes,  yes,  mistis,"  cried  Nastasia,  writhing  through 
all  the  length  of  her  tall  form,  "  Yes,  ole  Miss,  I'll  do 
it ;  whatever  'tis,  mistis,  Nastasia  '11  do  it,  sho' ! " 

Still  that  gaze ;  still  the  death-grip  on  her  wrist ;  no 
words.  Nastasia  fell  upon  her  knees  beside  the  bed, 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  crimson  coverlet. 

"  Fur  de  Lawd's  sake,  mistis,  what  is  it  ?  Tell  me 
what  you  wants  done.  De  Lawd  ain't  set  your  spirit 
free  dat  you  should  conjah  mine  !  " 

The  dying  woman,  by  one  supreme  effort,  raised  her- 
self upon  one  elbow.  "  Nastasia,"  she  cried  hoarsely ; 
then  her  voice  rose  to  a  shriek — "  NASTASIA  ! " 

A  film  came  over  her  eyes,  her  breath  rattled  in  her 
throat,  her  fingers  relaxed  their  hold;  she  fell  back 
upon  her  pillows — dead  ! 

For  a  moment  Nastasia  lay  prone  upon  the  floor 
where  she  had  fallen  when  the  death-clutch  left  her 
wrist ;  then,  rising  to  her  knees,  she  rocked  herself  back 
and  forth  in  terror-struck  silence. 

"For  I  knows  what  it  means,  dat  call,"  said  old 


VITALISM.  171 

Nastasia,  rising  to  her  feet  with  pathetic  dignity.  "  I 
knows  what  it  means,  an'  dat's  why  I  ain't  got  no  time 
to  lose." 

She  closed  the  eyes,  straightened  the  limbs,  and 
folded  the  hands  upon  the  breast.  "  Her  chillen  and 
gran'chillen  all  done  pass  away,  an'  no  han'  but 
mine  shall  tech  her,"  she  said;  "but  fust  I  must  see 
to  dat  po'  lamb.  'Tain't  no  time  now  fur  her  to  be 
a-layin'  up-stairs  like  dat ;  she's  got  ter  rouse  up  an' 
do  de  will  o'  de  Lawd." 

There  was  scarcely  more  life  in  the  face  she  next 
looked  upon  than  in  that  she  had  left.  Meta  Leonard 
lay  pale  and  still,  neither  sleeping  nor  waking;  her 
hands  rested,  one  on  either  side,  upon  the  couch,  white, 
limp,  and  listless ;  even  the  brown  eyes  were  dull, 
glassy,  and  lusterless.  She  seemed  neither  to  think  nor 
to  feel. 

"  Miss  Meta  ! " 

No  reply. 

"  Miss  Meta,  death  is  in  de  house." 

And  still  there  was  no  answer. 

"  It's  yo'  grandma,  Miss  Meta,  de  angel  of  de 
Lawd  done  summoned  her,  an'  she  went  mighty  willin', 
thanks  to  him  an'  de  messenger  he  sent  from  heaven ! 
Ain't  you  heard  me,  Miss  Meta  ?  I  tells  you,  yo'  grand- 
ma done  daid — daid,  I  tells  you.  An'  befo'  she  died 
she  call ' Nastasia  !  Nastasia*  jes'  like  dat,  honey ;  an' 
dat's  a  sign  she  wants  me,  my  lamb ;  an'  I  got  ter 
go,  mighty  quick,  too ;  fur  when  ole  Miss  want  a  nigga', 


172  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

she  want  'empow'ful — pow'ful,  dat  she  do.  0  honey, 
Miss  Meta,  my  chile,  my  blessed  lamb,  dat  I  carr'd  in 
dese  arms  when  yo'  ha'r  wuz  de  color  o'  gold  an'  yo' 
eyes  like  vi'lets — don't  you  hear  ole  Nastasia?  0 
my  lamb  ! "  But  Meta  did  not  answer. 

The  old  woman  threw  herself  on  the  floor  and  cov- 
ered the  pale  hand  with  kisses.  "  Would  I  bodder  you 
honey,  an'  disturve  yo'  res',  ef  'twuz  on'y  ole  Nastasia 
dat  wuz  struck  wid  death  ? "  she  said.  "  Honey,  you 
know  Nastasia  would  die  any  minute  to  save  yo'  slip- 
per from  gittin'  s'iled.  But,  chile,  it's  Marse  Hugh. 
Dat  saint  of  de  Lawd  dat  come  wid  Marse  Cyril,  he 
done  prayed  wid  him,  holdin'  he  two  little  han's  in 
his'n,  for  de  Lawd  to  make  him  strong  an'  well ;  an' 
den  he  done  sont  him  away  to  sleep — " 

"What?" 

It  was  with  a  cry  that  Meta  Leonard  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  put  back  the  heavy  brown  waves  from  her  pale 
temples.  "  Sleep  ?  "  she  said. 

She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  left ;  her  white 
robe  was  crumpled  and  disordered,  her  brown  hair 
hung  loosely  over  her  shoulders,  but  she  passed  through 
the  door  swiftly,  silently,  as  a  spirit,  and  descended  the 
staircase.  She  asked  no  questions.  It  may  have  been 
only  habit  that  led  her  to  the  study,  where  the  four  men 
still  sat  in  converse  around  the  shattered  table  which 
their  united  strength  had  propped  up  in  its  former 
position. 

"  You  talk  of  animal  magnetism,"  Hermann  had  re- 


VITALISM.  173 

peated;  or,  as  I  say  more  willingly,  vital  magnetism. 
"But  what  is  it?  If  it  exists,  if  it  can  be  used,  are  we 
not  fools  to  spend  muscular  strength  upon  this  table 
when  we  could  lift  it  with  the  ends  of  our  fin- 
gers ?  " 

"  If  we  understood  it,  could  control  it — yes,"  said 
Felix  Gold.  "  Yet  to  lift,  that  helps  the  muscles  and 
the  health,"  he  added,  thoughtfully  Francis  Merton, 
the  theosophist,  smiled,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Were  you  in  the  habit  of  lifting  it  with  the  ends 
of  your  fingers  ?  "  asked  Cyril.  "  Surely,  it  was  not  this 
table  you  used  in  your  seances  ?  " 

"  No ;  we  had  little  to  do  with  tables  ;  our  manifesta- 
tions were  obtained  in  other  ways.  When  we  used  a 
table  it  was  a  smaller  one — very  light." 

"  And  why  light,  if  it  were  not  animal  magnetism 
that  you  employed  upon  it?"  asked  Cyril.  "  Could  not 
a  spirit,  if  it  could  influence  matter  at  all,  lift  a  heavy 
table  as  easily  as  a  light  one  ?  " 

"  Part  of  your  answer  is  there"  said  the  man,  with  a 
gesture  toward  the  broken  leg ;  "  for  the  rest — well, 
frankly,  I  do  not  know.  What  is  matter,  my  friend, 
and  what  is  spirit  ?  For  we  must  know  this,  to  answer 
if  one  can  influence  the  other." 

"  Pure  spirit  manifested  as  matter  in  the  abstract — 
Brahm  and  Parabrahm,"  said  the  theosophist. 

"  And  what  are  these  but  other  names  ?  "  asked  Felix 
Gold.  "  They  tell  us  nothing — nothing ! " 

"  They  tell   us   this,"  said   Francis  Merton,  "  that 


174  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

matter,  space,  motion,  and  duration  are  one  and  the 
same  eternal  substance." 

"  Eternal  ?  "  said  Cyril  Deane. 

"  Only  matter  is  eternal,"  said  the  other. 

A  glance  passed  between  Cyril  and  his  friend — the 
meeting  of  eyes  that  understood  one  another. 

" '  And  this  is  life  eternal,'  "  said  Felix  Gold,  " '  that 
they  might  know  thee,  the  only  true  God,  and  Jesus 
Christ  whom  thou  hast  sent.' " 

"  Any  number  of  Manvantaras  and  Pralayas  are  not 
eternity  in  that  sense,"  said  Cyril ;  "  but  if  you  mean 
that  matter  alone  is  everlasting,  Mr.  Merton,  then  what 
is  matter  ?  " 

"  We  will  not  contend  about  a  definition,"  said  Fran- 
cis Merton.  "  Nay,  I  am  content  to  acknowledge  that 
to  know  the  secret  and  the  mode  of  Jesus  the  Christ  is 
eternal  life." 

"  Not  his  secret,  but  himself,"  said  Cyril  gently. 

"  Well,  well,  it  matters  little,"  returned  the  other,  a 
trifle  impatiently. 

"  It  matters — everything,"  said  Felix  Gold. 

"  At  all  events,  it  is  a  question  upon  which  we  can 
never  agree,"  said  Merton.  "  '  What  is  matter  ? '  you 
ask.  I  have  already  told  you.  It  is  one  form,  one 
manifestation,  of  that  eternal  or  everlasting  substance 
which  is  itself  merely  the  outbreathing  of  Brahm." 

"  And  what  is  Brahm  ? — or  should  I  say  who  ?  " 

"  To  say  who  is  to  ascribe  personality,  and  that  is 
beyond  us.  Brahm  is  the  Soul  of  the  universe,  of  all 


VITALISM.  175 

that  is.  In  it  we  now  live,  move,  and  have  our  being ; 
into  it  we  shall  some  day  be  reabsorbed.  We  know  no 
more." 

"  And  I — living,  sentient,  suffering — can  I  look  up- 
ward to  that  cold,  non-conscious,  unconditioned  some- 
thing, and  say  '  Our  Father '  ?  " 

"  Why  upward  rather  than  inward  ?  "  asked  Francis 
Merton.  "  The  highest  to  which  you  can  pray  is  your 
own  higher  self — that  which  you  will  be  when  your  full 
development  shall  have  been  achieved,  your  final  incar- 
nation accomplished." 

Cyril's  brow  had  been  bent  upon  his  hand ;  he  now 
raised  his  head  and  fixed  his  clear  eyes,  once  again  shin- 
ing with  that  strange  inward  light,  full  upon  the  face  of 
Francis  Merton. 

"  My  higher  self,"  he  said.  "  It  is  true — I  have  a 
higher  self.  Even  now,  when  I  am  tossed  about — this 
lower  me — on  the  bitter  waves  of  anguish,  doubt,  and 
contending  passions — tossed  about  like  a  feather — even 
now  my  higher  self  stands  firm  and  fearless.  But  why  ? 
Do  you  think  it  could  stand  alone  for  a  single  instant  ? 
I  tell  you  it  is  as  weak  as  a  child — it  is  a  child — a  babe 
in  Christ.  It  stands  holding  fast  by  his  hand — the  hand 
of  the  man  Christ  Jesus." 

"  And  would  I  destroy  that  faith  of  yours  ?  "  asked 
Francis  Merton  gently,  while  the  dew  rose  in  his  kind 
eyes.  "  It  is  very  beautiful.  I  may  know — and  I  speak 
because  it  will  not  disturb  you — that  the  Christ  of  each 
man  is  the  ideal  of  that  which  is  noblest  in  himself — " 


176  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Because  all  that  is  noble,  all  that  is  pure  and 
right,  comes  from  him  and  must  be  like  him,"  said 
Cyril  Deane.  "  But  this  is  no  ideal — this  is  himself  !  " 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet ;  he  looked  upward,  even  as 
Stephen  when  the  stones  fell  thickest  upon  him  ;  there 
was  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  radiance  upon  his  brow.  At 
that  moment  the  door  opened  to  admit  Meta  Leonard, 
closely  followed  by  old  Nastasia.  The  girl's  face  was 
flushed  from  the  haste  she  had  made,  her  eyes  were  wild, 
her  appearance  disordered  ;  she  was  like  a  Maenad  in 
her  sorrow  and  agitation — not  the  calm,  sweet  saint  of 
Cyril's  imagination. 

There  was  no  holding  back  from  her,  because  she 
had  thus  fallen  below  his  ideal ;  weakness  or  hesitation 
about  the  man  who  loved  her ;  no  thought  of  himself, 
higher  or  lower.  He  moved  toward  her  quietly  and  took 
her  hand. 

"  "What  is  it  ?  "  he  said.  "  Sit  here  ;  you  are  weak 
and  tired.  What  troubles  you  ?  " 

She  looked  about  her  wildly  for  an  instant,  then  his 
influence  calmed  her ;  she  sank  into  the  chair  he  drew 
forward,  and  looked  wistfully  into  his  face. 

"  Hugh ! "  she  said — "  what  have  you  done  with  him  ? 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Hugh  is  in  his  own  room,  sleeping  quietly,"  he  said. 

"  Asleep  ?  " 

She  left  her  hand  in  his,  and  drew  the  other  over 
her  eyes  as  if  bewildered ;  then  suddenly,  pushing  him 
from  her,  sprang  to  her  feet  again  with  a  cry. 


VITALISM.  177 

"  I  will  not  be  a  slave  again — not  even  to  you  ! ''  she 
cried.  "  Hugh,  Hugh,  my  little  brother  !  Oh,  who — 
who — had  the  heart  to  do  it  ?  Not  you,  Fritz ;  you 
pledged  your  word  to  me.  If  it  was  killing  me,  what 
would  it  do  to  him,  I  said.  Was  it  you  ?  " 

She  turned  fiercely  upon  Cyril.  The  words  "  I  will 
not  be  a  slave  again  "  had  brought  a  smile  of  glad  tri- 
umph into  his  eyes.  He  scarcely  heard  the  words  "  even 
to  you,"  though  remembered  later  they  might  bring 
their  own  sweetness  ;  but  the  light  on  his  brow  carried 
conviction  to  the  girl's  dazed  consciousness. 

"  No,"  she  murmured ;  "  no,  no  !  not  you.  Forgive 
me!" 

"  It  was  I,"  said  Felix  Gold  gently,  while  Cyril  once 
more  put  her  trembling  form  into  the  great  chair. 
"  It  was  I,  my  child ;  but  no  harm  has  been  done  to 
him." 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  cry.  "  So  he  said  of  me 
— so  he  said  of  me — until  it  was  too  late." 

"  Listen,"  said  Cyril.  He  knelt  upon  the  floor  at 
her  feet,  and  compelled  her  troubled  eyes  to  look  into 
his.  "This  is  the  sleep  of  life,  not  of  death.  God's 
will  is  health  for  all  of  us — therefore  for  little  Hugh. 
Sleep  brings  health,  and  Hugh's  own  will  brought  the 
health-giving  sleep.  If  we  would  control  death  and 
sickness,  must  not  sleep  first  be  obedient  to  us?  Each 
of  us  should  be  able  to  sleep  and  wake  at  his  own  pleas- 
ure. Some  can.  Then,  to  conquer  also  the  confused 

world  of  dreams;  then,  to  bring  the  whole  body  into 
12 


178  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

subjection,  every  organ,  nerve,  and  artery;  then,  the 
last  enemy  to  be  destroyed  is  death." 

"But  oh,  my  young  marster,  Death  is  pow'ful 
strong  ! "  said  Nastasia.  "  Ole  Miss,  she's  done  yielded 
to  his  power,  an7  Nastasia  '11  be  de  nex'.  Yes,  my 
Lawd,  Nastasia  '11  be  de  nex'." 

They  followed  her  to  the  room  where  lay  all  that 
was  left  of  her  mistress,  leaving  Cyril  alone  with  Meta. 

"  Not  now,"  he  said,  as  the  girl  would  have  fol- 
lowed. "  You  also  will  go  and  sleep,  will  you  not  ? — of 
your  own  will,  for  the  love  of  God  and  of  little  Hugh." 

He  told  her,  in  that  gentle  voice  of  his,  all  that  had 
happened,  until  the  water  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  she 
Was  once  more  as  docile  as  a  little  child.  Then  he 
went  with  her  to  the  door  of  her  own  room,  where  she 
turned  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  If  I  should  doubt  you  again,"  she  said,  "  and  be 
unkind  to  you,  you  will  not  mind  ?  I  will  try  not ;  but 
I  am  so  weak,  I  do  not  understand  myself.  Whom  I 
love  or  dislike — why,  even  that  I  do  not  know !  I 
seem  to  have  neither  will  nor  affections  of  my  own. 
I  am  like  a  straw  upon  the  waves  of  the  ocean.  But 
you  understand — you  will  not  mind  ?  " 

He  smiled,  well  content,  for  it  was  to  him  as 
though  at  the  depths  of  those  clear  eyes  of  hers  he 
had  seen  her  real  self — weak,  numb  from  the  fetters 
that  had  bound  it — but  yet  struggling  feebly  for  life 
and  freedom.  And  that  self  had  said  to  him,  "  You 
understand."  He  did  not  know  that  in  words  he  had 


VITALISM.  179 

not  answered  her.  "When  the  door  had  closed  upon  her, 
he  went  his  way,  calmly  glad.  In  a  corridor  near  by  he 
came  upon  Fritz  Hermann,  in  a  carved  wooden  seat 
with  curling  arms  and  no  back;  his  face  was  in  his 
hands  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  "  Sit  here  beside 
me,"  he  said,  pulling  near  to  his  own  throne  another, 
the  fellow  to  it.  "  Sit  here,  and  say  what  has  come  to 
me.  If  you  could  know  how  hard  I  tried  to  will  noth- 
ing for  the  child — for  Meta — how  I  strive  now  !  But 
why  ?  If  my  will  for  her  is  good,  why  should  not  I  will 
for  her  ?  You  bade  her  go  and  sleep  ;  you  could  have 
made  her  sleep.  The  same  with  the  child.  Yes,  I  see 
it  has  wasted  her  life,  and  it  may  be  that  your  way 
will  restore  it.  But  why — why  can  not  one  will  for 
her?" 

"Because  'no  man  can  deliver  his  "brother,  nor 
make  agreement  unto  God  for  him,'  "  said  Cyril ;  " '  for 
it  cost  more  to  redeem  their  souls,  so  that  he  must  let 
that  alone  forever.' " 

"  And  yet  men — women — have  been  healed  by  hyp- 
notism," said  Fritz  Hermann. 

"  They  are  healed  by  medicine  ;  the  wicked  are 
strong  and  well,  and  the  good  suffer  and  die.  It  is  a 
confused  problem,  Hermann — an  equation  of  many  un- 
known quantities.  I  do  not  profess  to  have  solved  it  as 
yet.  But  I  am  sure  that  the  power  which  is  to  redeem — 
which  is  redeeming — the  world,  is  not  hypnotism — en- 
forced sleep  at  the  will  of  another  It  is  not  in  any 
respect  the  enslavement  of  the  will,  but  its  liberation  ; 


180  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

and  the  one  liberty  is  to  do  the  will  of  Jesus  Christ, 
which  is  the  law  of  the  universe." 

"  And  so  you  call  that  liberty  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  you  will  find  for  it.  Matter — our  friend 
there  could  not  define  it — but  what  is  matter  but  a 
balance,  an  equilibrium  of  forces  ?  " 

"  Ha ! "  said  Fritz  Hermann. 

"A  partial  equilibrium  more  or  less  stable,"  said 
Cyril.  "  I  am  only  thinking  aloud,  Hermann,  stum- 
bling on  in  half-light.  So  '  the  whole  creation  groaneth 
and  travaileth  in  pain  together,'  struggling  to  achieve 
that  perfect  equilibrium  which  is  the  consummation, 
the  manifesting  of  the  sons  of  God." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  said  Fritz  Hermann. 

"  I  do  not  know — yet,"  said  Cyril.  "  But  even 
science  teaches  us  that  there  is  only  one  force,  of 
which  heat,  light,  electricity,  magnetism,  are  mere  mani- 
festations. May  there  not  be  still  a  higher  manifesta- 
tion, more  like  the  original  force?  and  may  not  that 
manifestation  be  the  human  will  ?  " 

"  So.  At  least,  you  make  one  think.  But  hypnotic 
influence  proceeds  directly  from  the  will.  I  see,  indeed, 
that  some  students — this  novelist  Marion  Crawford 
among  them — teach  that  the  power  is  purely  a  moral 
force,  having  nothing  to  do  with  vital  magnetism." 

"  You  should  know,"  said  Cyril. 

"  I  think  he  is  perhaps  right  and  wrong,"  said 
Fritz  Hermann.  "He  says  that  the  looking  into  the 
eyes,  the  holding  the  hand,  the  touching  of  tbp  brow, 


VITALISM.  181 

has  nothing  to  do  with  the  effect  produced ;  that  they 
are  magical — perhaps  it  is  rather  /  who  say  that  word — 
even  as  the  passes  of  mesmerism  were  magical." 

"  And  what  say  you  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  I  say,  No,'r  said  Fritz  Hermann.  "  Where  you  find 
hypnotic  power  fully  developed,  you  find  a  strong,  vig- 
orous physical  frame — running  over,  you  may  say,  with 
magnetic  force ;  able  to  light  the  gas  with  the  finger  or 
deflect  a  compass  needle.  They  are  also  men  of  strong 
will-power — born  rulers.  Napoleon  could  have  been  a 
hypnotizer,  a  great  one.  So  I  say  that  the  will-power 
is  the  main  thing ;  but  that  it  acts  through  vital  mag- 
netism, as  the  soul  acts  through  the  body,  and  is  as 
closely  united  to  it." 

"  Then  this  is  the  secret  of  the  life-power,  the 
death-power  !  "  cried  Cyril,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  It 
is  the  difference  between  a  living  body  and  a  decaying 
corpse.  The  last  overpowers  the  will,  and  so  poisons, 
destroys,  disintegrates;  the  first  takes  up,  combines, 
organizes,  corresponds  more  and  more  perfectly  with 
its  environment — '  for  in  him  we  live,  move,  and  have 
our  being' — tends  ever  toward  a  more  perfect  equili- 
brium. Correspondence  with  the  environment  is,  there- 
fore, to  have  the  will  properly  focalized  according  to 
the  will  of  Christ,  the  universal  center.  Then,  we  shall 
induce — or  let  us  say  educe — a  similar  rearrangement  in 
every  will  wherewith  we  come  in  contact;  even  as  a 
bar  of  steel,  touching  one  pole  of  a  magnet,  is  itself 
magnetized  and  able  to  magnetize  in  turn.  But  a  will 


182  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

not  properly  focalized  can  evidently  not  exert  this 
eductive  magnetism ;  it  can  but  draw  other  wills  to 
itself,  giving  them  no  power  that  they  can  give  again, 
and  bring — breed — confusion,  destruction,  death." 

"  Eductive  magnetism,"  said  Fritz  Herman  thought- 
fully ;  "  you  want  a  better  name  for  it  than  that." 

"  It  is  the  power  of  life  unto  life,"  said  Cyril  with 
shining  eyes.  "  Call  it  VITALISM  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  they  heard  the  voice  of  Felix  Gold 
through  an  open  door  near  them. 

"  Take  away  the  crimson,  Nastasia,  and  let  all  be 
purely  and  simply  white." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   EDGE   OF  THE   WILDERNESS. 

IT  is  ever  after  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit  that 
we  are  led  into  the  wilderness ;  why,  one  can  surely 
not  explain  upon  any  theory  of  materialism,  though 
the  fact  is  axiomatic  in  every  manual  of  casuistry,  and 
so  familiar  to  the  daily  experience  of  every  one  that 
we  confidently  watch  for  falls  from  the  newly  con- 
verted. Even  from  the  spiritual  plane  it  is  not  easy 
of  explication.  Is  it  the  strange  new  power,  vitalism, 
which  has  come  in  greater  force  into  our  being,  that 
wrestles  with  and  strives  to  draw  into  line  the  old 
Adam  of  a  perverted  will?  But  whence,  then,  come 
attacks  from  without?  "Ah,  these  are  arranged  by 
Providence  for  the  perfecting  of  the  saints." 

Ay  !     But  what  is  Providence  ? 

Or  is  it  that  the  fresh  influx  of  the  life-power  is 
felt  uncomprehendingly  by  one's  little  world — (even  as 
the  power  of  a  new  star  is  felt  by  our  earth,  years, 
perhaps  centuries,  before  its  light  can  be  perceived) ; 
and  that  whom  it  can  not  attract  it  rouses  to  resistance  ? 
— which  also  is  surely  providential. 

Be  this  as  it  may — nay,  as  it  certainly  is — it  was  not 


184:  FKOM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

long  before  Cyril  Deane  was  singled  out  as  an  object 
of  attack  by  those  "  troops  of  Midian  "  who  "  prowl  and 
prowl  around,"  as  the  hymn  tells  us.  For  a  while  he 
was  altogether  unconscious  of  it. 

On  the  morning  after  Mrs.  Shryock's  funeral  he 
found  Meta  alone  in  the  study — a  cosy  place  enough, 
with  its  paneled  walls,  and  a  cheerful  fire  of  soft  coal 
blazing  in  the  grate.  She  wore  a  warm,  loose  robe  of 
brown  woolen  stuff,  with  reflets  of  crimson — for  the 
horrors  of  "  deep  mourning  "  she  would  now  have  none 
of — and  the  dancing  flames  awoke  shimmers  of  gold  in 
the  brown  hair,  which,  smoothly  braided,  fell  over  her 
shoulders  and  clustered  in  soft  rings  upon  her  white 
forehead.  Upon  her  knee  lay  a  book,  which  she  closed 
as  she  gave  her  hand  to  Cyril. 

"  You  are  better  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  sat  down. 

"  Much  better,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  reading — 
have  you  read  this  ?  It  explains  so  many  things." 

He  took  the  volume,  glanced  at  its  title,  and  re- 
turned it  to  her  gravely.  "  I  have  read  it,"  he  said. 
"  It  helps  you  ?  How,  if  I  may  ask." 

"  Surely  you  may  ask,"  she  said.  "  It  helps  me  to 
understand  myself,  and  all  that  has  happened — this 
doctrine  of  Karma.  I  see  now  that  Arthur  and  I  could 
never  have  married.  I  do  not  know  why ;  but  possibly 
in  some  previous  incarnation  we  had  so  touched  each 
other's  lives  that  it  was  impossible — our  Karma  for- 
bade it." 

"  Only  possibly  ?  "  he  said. 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS.  185 

"  Well,  certainly ;  though  we  can  not  know  the 
details  unless  we  come  to  be  adepts.  There  is  some- 
thing to  work  for,  Mr.  Deane." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  though  his  heart  ached  for  her ; 
"  and  in  the  mean  time  you  are  content  and  happy,  be- 
lieving this  on  the  testimony  of  those  who  are  adepts." 

"  Why,  it  has  all  been  revealed  to  them,"  she  said. 
"  They  have  seen  it  all  upon  the  astral  plane — that 
fourth  dimension  of  which  Fritz  and  I  used  to  talk  so 
glibly." 

"  That  is,  in  trance,"  he  said.  "  You  know  more  of 
trance  than  I.  Are  its  visions  always  objective,  or  are 
they  limited  by  the  memory  and  imagination  of  the 
trance  subject  and  the  mesmerizer,  if  any  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  so  untrained,"  she  said.  "  One  can  not 
argue  from  my  poor,  unscientific  attempts.  That  is 
why  they  made  me  ill ;  they  were  unscientifically  man- 
aged." 

"  And  so  you  mean  to  set  about  it  scientifically  this 
time?" 

"  I  shall  study,"  she  said,  "  and  grow  stronger.  Mr. 
Merton  encourages  me  to  hope  that  true  visions  will 
come  to  me  in  time — that  I  may  become  a  seeress.  He 
thinks — it  is,  of  course,  only  a  guess — that  in  my  last 
incarnation  I  may  have  been  possessed  of  great  occult 
knowledge  which  I  used  for  a  bad  purpose ;  but  he 
thinks,  or  hopes,  that  the  bad  Karma  is  now  exhausted, 
and  that  I  shall  spring  forward  rapidly  and  regain  all 
my  lost  power  and  insight." 


186  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

She  looked  so  fair,  so  fragile,  so  innocent  and  child- 
ish as  she  spoke,  that  Cyril's  heart  throbbed  with  a  great 
pain.  "  And  how  is  your  brother  ?  "  he  said. 

With  a  quick  movement  she  laid  the  book  aside,  sat 
up  more  erectly,  and  spoke  with  a  quicker  accent  and  a 
new  light  in  her  eyes :  "  Hugh  ?  Oh,  he  is  so  much  bet- 
ter !  he  is  like  another  boy.  Even  in  these  few  days  he 
has  grown  stouter,  or  I  fancy  so.  But  there  is  really  a 
color  in  his  cheek.  You  should  see  him ;  but  he  has 
gone  to  see  your  friend  Mr.  Gold.  Mr.  Merton  says 
that  his  magnetism  is  wholesome  for  Hugh,  and  that 
his  kind  of  Christianity  is  not  a  bad  introduction  to  the 
truth." 

"  His  magnetism  and  his  Christianity  are  one — the 
love  of  Christ,"  said  Cyril. 

She  looked  at  him  vaguely ;  it  was  an  unknown 
tongue.  He  had  no  heart  to  discuss  more  theosophy 
with  her.  He  rose  to  go,  but  a  look  so  like  blank  dis- 
appointment came  over  the  beautiful  face,  that  he  said, 
as  he  touched  her  hand,  "  Why  not  let  him  come  to  see 
you,  one  of  these  days  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Gold  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes.  We  Christians  see  visions  also,  you  know, 
though  not  in  trance — at  least  not  now,  until  we  better 
know  what  trance  is.  And  his  vision  of  the  heavenly 
things  is  so  clear,  so  real,  he  may  be  able  to  help  you." 

She  shook  her  head  smilingly.  "  I  have  passed  be- 
yond him,"  she  said ;  "  he  could  only  tell  me  what  I 
already  know.  Besides,  I  have  all  the  help  I  need." 


THE  EDGE  OP  THE  WILDERNESS.     187 

He  bowed  silently  and  left  her,  standing,  drawn  up 
to  her  fullest  height,  with  a  flush  upon  her  cheek  and  a 
sparkle  in  her  eye,  which  he  was  too  grieved  to  try  to 
analyze.  But  Nastasia,  coming  in  a  few  moments  later, 
found  her  lying  back  in  her  chair,  with  great  tears  steal- 
ing from  under  her  closed  eyelids. 

"  Who  done  hurt  my  lamb  now  ? "  said  the  old 
woman  indignantly.  She  looked  ten  years  older.  Her 
tall  form  was  bowed  and  shrunken  with  weakness ;  her 
skin  was  like  charred  and  wrinkled  paper  upon  which  a 
layer  of  fine  ashes  has  fallen. 

She  gathered  the  girl  into  her  arms.  "  May  be  de 
good  Marster  know  bes',"  she  said,  "  but  'pears  like  he 
mought  spar'  ole  Nastasia  a  while  longer  to  ten'  to  you, 
honey.  Who  dat  made  you  cry?  Not  dat  blessed 
young  Marse  Cyril,  was  it  ?  " 

But  Meta  would  not  tell  her ;  she  would  only  lay  her 
brown  head  upon  the  withered  shoulder,  and  sob  :  "  0 
Nastasia,  don't  speak  of  dying,  when  I  have  only  you  ! " 

"  Ain't  you  got  Marse  Hugh,  honey  ?  and  ain't  he 
de  Lawd's  lamb  for  you  to  ten'  to  when  Nastasia's 
gone  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  tired — tired,  Nastasia.  I  want  some 
one  to  take  care  of  me." 

"  All  of  us  likes  dat,  honey,  mighty  well.  But  when 
we  is  taken  keer  of — well,  dat's  only  like  us ;  but  when 
we  takes  keer  of  other  folks,  dat's  like  him"  said  the 
old  woman  thoughtfully. 

Meta  scarcely  seemed  to  hear  her ;  but  in  a  moment 


188  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

she  dried  her  eyes  and  said,  more  cheerfully :  "  Such  a 
beautiful  winter  day,  and  we  have  neither  of  us  been 
out !  Put  on  your  things,  Nastasia,  and  we  will  go  and 
meet  Hugh." 

The  girl  did  not  understand  herself  at  this  period 
any  more  than  others  understood  her.  Cyril's  visits 
were  frequent.  She  looked  forward  to  them  feverishly, 
yet  when  he  came  she  was  apt  to  be  cold  and  disap- 
pointing. Sometimes,  on  the  plea  of  illness,  she  refused 
to  see  him  at  all ;  then  she  would  listen,  within  her  open 
door,  for  the  faintest  echo  of  his  voice,  and  when  he  had 
gone  would  cry  herself  into  a  headache  in  good  earnest. 

"  It  is  a  transition  state,"  said  Francis  Merton  one 
day,  when  she  had  snubbed  him  very  severely,  for  her 
temper  at  this  period  was  by  no  means  angelic ;  "  it  is 
the  good  and  evil  Karma  that  are  struggling  for  influ- 
ence over  her." 

Meanwhile  Cyril  went  steadily  on  with  his  round  of 
accustomed  duties — his  church  services,  visits  to  the 
sick,  his  studies,  and  his  Bible-class — performing  all 
very  thoroughly  and  conscientiously,  yet  always  with  an 
aching  heart,  whose  every  throb  said  "  Meta !  Meta  ! " 

In  his  talks  with  Felix  Gold  he  found  strength  and 
comfort,  and  they  were  often  together.  His  visits  to  the 
Hermitage  were  a  mingled  joy  and  torture ;  and  all  of 
this  absorbed  him  so  entirely,  that  he  did  not  hear  a 
murmur  of  tongues  in  the  air,  buzzing  about  and  defil- 
ing his  fail  name. 

There  were  fewer  visitors  to  his  rooms,  fewer  trays, 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS.  189 

white-napkin  covered,  to  lessen  the  labor  of  his  house- 
keeping. Some  who  had  professed  much  passed  him 
with  averted  eyes  or  a  chill  bow ;  others  showed  a  cer- 
tain effusion  of  friendliness  that  would  have  puzzled 
him  had  not  his  heart  been  so  sore  as  to  make  it  only 
welcome. 

It  was  a  falling  off  in  the  number  of  attendants  at 
his  Bible-class  that  first  roused  him  to  the  perception 
that  something  was  wrong.  There  had  been  two  or 
three  days  of  storm  that  had  accounted  for  the  dimin- 
ished numbers.  At  last  came  a  clear,  crisp,  sparkling 
winter  afternoon,  when  he  found  that  only  Nina  Lyd- 
gate  and  the  young  lady  in  spectacles  had  ventured  out ; 
moreover,  Nina's  long  neck  was  stiff  Avith  indignation, 
and  the  eyes  behind  the  spectacles  were  red,  as  if  their 
owner  had  been  weeping. 

Cyril  made  no  comment,  but  gave  the  lesson  as  care- 
fully as  if  the  full  number  had  been  present.  When  it 
was  over,  he  went  straight  to  Dr.  Lydgate. 

"  Yes,  I  feared  you'd  be  coming  to  me  soon,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  Trouble  ?  Of  course  there's  trouble,  espe- 
cially to  me.  Haven't  I  had  a  committee  of  the  vestry 
to  wait  on  me,  and  all  on  your  account  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Cyril. 

"  So  am  I.  I  had  to  request  them  to  mind  their 
own  business,  and  that's  a  very  unpleasant  thing  to  do." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you,  sir." 

"  Well,  you  know  I  forewarned  you  to  be  ready  to 
fight  it  out,  and  fight  you  must — that's  all." 


190  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Then  it  was—" 

"  Faith  cure  and  spiritualism,  of  course,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  I  told  them  I  believed  you  to  be  a  good  man 
and  true,  and  that  you  had  influenced  the  spiritualists 
to  give  up  their  spiritualism.  That  pacified  them  a  bit, 
until  one  of  them  thought  to  ask  if  you  meant  to  marry 
the — I  mean  Miss  Leonard  ? "  And  the  rector  shot  a 
keen  glance  from  under  his  gray  eyelashes. 

Cyril  flushed  with  pain.  "  I — I  fear  no  such  hap- 
piness is  in  store  for  me,"  he  said. 

"  Humph ! "  But  Dr.  Lydgate  was  too  shrewd 
to  speak  all  his  thought.  "  She  may  have  cared  for 
Arthur  more  than  I  supposed  her  capable  of  doing,"  he 
said.  "  But  it  would  never  have  done  for  them  to 
marry — two  temperaments  inclined  to  morbidness,  you 
know.  Yours  is  healthful  enough,  but —  However,  if 
she  doesn't  care  for  you,  that  about  settles  it.  But  why 
do  you  go  there  so  often  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  Cyril. 

"  Of  course  not  ;  they  never  do  know,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  Take  my  advice,  then,  Deane,  and  keep 
away;  not  to  gratify  the  gossips,  but  for  your  own 
sake." 

"  I  will  think  it  over,  sir." 

"  Humph  !  I  know  how  tliat  will  end,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "Well,  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  troubles. 
How  do  you  feel  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  nothing  wrong,  sir  ;  but,  of  course  I 
can  resign,  if  you  wish  it." 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS.  191 

"  And  go  to  C ?  "  naming  the  mission  station 

which  had  been  the  young  man's  original  aim. 

"  I  think  not,  sir.  For  the  present,  at  least,  I  should 
remain  in  Fairtown." 

"  Then  you  had  better  not  resign.  I  think  I  can 
keep  the  vestry  and  the  bishop  off  you  a  while  longer." 

"  You  are  only  too  kind  to  me." 

"  Well,  you  see  I  trust  you,"  said  the  rector.  "  You 
may  not  be  the  wisest  man  in  the  world,  and  yet — well, 
this  theory  of  vitalism  rather  impresses  one.  Of  course 
it  is  only  a  theory,  and  has  got  to  be  demonstrated ;  but 
I'm  not  going  to  meddle  with  the  demonstrations — 
that's  all.  You  be  sure  you're  right,  though,  and  then 
go  ahead,  and  I'll  back  you  up.  Only,  you  know,  vital- 
ism— well,  it's  only  vitality — spiritual  vitality — " 

"  If  we  know  what  vitality  is,"  said  Cyril.  "  I  did 
not  coin  the  word  vitalism;  it  is  in  the  dictionaries, 
though  rarely  used.  The  International  Webster  defines 
it  as  '  the  doctrine  thut  all  the  functions  of  a  living 
organism  are  due  to  an  unknown  vital  principle,  dis- 
tinct from  all  physical  and  chemical  forces.'  " 

"  Well,  that's  got  to  be  proved,  too,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  It's  a  pretty  practical  doctrine,  anyhow,  and  a  whole- 
some one,  this  vitalism — draws  a  sharp  line  between 
right  and  wrong,  you  see  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  matter 
of  turning  the  left  cheek,  and  so  on.  We  should  not 
need  to  ask  if  it  be  wrong  to  strike  back,  for  evidently 
it  lowers  the  vitalism  of  the  system." 

"  And  it  explains  how  one's  first  duty  is  to  save  his 


192  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

own  soul — that  is,  to  fill  it  throbbing  through  and 
through  with  life,  that  may  be  imparted  to  the  souls  of 
others." 

"  But  it  doesn't  admit  of  any  insincerity  or  self-de- 
ception, which  is  the  point  I  was  trying  to  get  at,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  I  do  not  doubt  you,  Deane,  and  am  more 
than  willing  to  stand  by  you  to  the  last  gasp ;  but  the 
pitfall  in  the  way  of  all  you  enthusiasts  is  self-deception, 
and  it  is  right  that  I  should  warn  you  of  it.  Don't  try 
to  walk  too  far  or  too  fast  by  the  inner  light,  until  you 
are  sure  you  can  tell  it  from  an  ignis  fatuus — that's  all. 
Beware  of  mistaking  self-will  for  a  mission  from  heaven ; 
self-pleasing,  for  the  will  of  God." 

"  I  wonder  what  would  be  the  test,  if  one  had  al- 
ready unconsciously  wandered  from  the  way?"  said 
Cyril  thoughtfully,  too  simply  intent  on  heeding  the 
warning  even  to  thank  the  warner. 

The  doctor  glanced  at  him  again,  with  a  keenness  of 
insight  which  did  not  exclude  a  sort  of  reverence. 

"  Humph  ! "  he  said ;  "  no  fear  of  that ;  it  would  be 
sure  to  tell.  Impatience  of  advice  or  reproof,  conceit, 
obstinacy — the  hardest  things  in  the  world  to  make  a 
man  conscious  of,  and  the  easiest  for  him  to  find  out  for 
himself." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is  that  no  one  can  advise  one," 
said  Cyril.  "  And — and  about — Miss  Leonard — doctor,  I 
have  a  sort  of — of — feeling — of  course,  as  you  say,  it  may 
be  an  ignis  fatuus,  but  I  feel  as  though  I  were  set  to 
watch  over  her,  that  I  may  be  of  use  to  her  some  day — 


THE  EDGE  OP  THE  WILDERNESS.  193 

all  the  more  disinterestedly  of  use,  because — she  doesn't 
love  me." 

"  Oh !  Then,  in  that  case,  do  as  you  think  right," 
said  the  doctor. 

When  Cyril  had  left  him  the  rector  with  the  pen 
in  hand,  which  he  had  taken  up  from  force  of  habit  as 
soon  as  he  found  himself  alone,  delivered  himself  up 
to  a  profound  meditation,  from  which  he  was  roused 
by  the  entrance  of  his  wife. 

"  Well,  Dr.  Lydgate,"  she  said,  "  did  you  accept  that 
fellow's  resignation  ?  " 

"  What  fellow  ?  "  asked  her  husband,  gazing  at  her 
placidly  over  his  spectacles. 

"  That  man  who  has  been  turning  the  parish  upside 
down — that  Deane." 

"  Oh  !  Deane  ?  Well,  resignation  is  an  excellent 
thing  to  have  for  family  uses ;  but  he  needed  all  his,  so 
I  did  not  ask  him  for  it." 

"  Dr.  Lydgate,  you  are  enough  to  try  the  patience 
of  Job!" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  dare  say  I  am." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  intend  to  keep  on 
with  this—" 

"  Tonic  ?  "  asked  the  rector. 

"  — man,  Deane,  when  you  know  that  he  is  bringing 
disgrace  on  the  Church — " 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  the  Church,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  — with  his  spiritualism  and  nonsense,"  finished  the 
13 


194:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

lady,  persistent,  though  a  trifle    disconcerted   by  her 
husband's  interruptions. 

"  If  it  is  nonsense,  there  is  no  good  in  minding  it," 
said  the  doctor. 

"  Unfortunately,  it  is  worse  than  nonsense,  Dr.  Lyd- 
gate ;  and  you  know  it. " 

"  No,  my  dear,"  returned  the  rector  tranquilly ; 
"  there  I  join  issue  with  you.  I  do  not  know  it ;  but 
what  I  do  know  is,  that  you  are  meddling  with  matters 
entirely  out  of  your  sphere.  Parish  affairs  are  my  busi- 
ness, and  not  yours,  and  I  should  be  exceedingly  obliged 
if  you  would  kindly  remember  it.  Do  I  interfere  in  the 
management  of  your  household  ?  " 

"  You  have  never  had  reason  to  do  so,"  returned  his 
wife  proudly.  "At  all  events,  I  am  not  out  of  my 
sphere  in  controlling  my  own  daughter ;  and  I  say  most 
positively  that  Nina  shall  never  go  to  that  man's  Bible- 
class  again." 

The  doctor  caught  his  lip  in  his  teeth,  and  made  a 
little  sound  of  vexation.  It  had  been  many  years  since 
he  had  been  compelled  to  establish  this  division  of  terri- 
tory with  his  wife,  and  the  plan  had  worked  fairly  well. 
He  had  at  least  maintained  his  own  rights,  and  no 
amount  of  interference  on  his  part  could  have  made  her 
government  of  the  family  more  loving  or  genial,  while 
for  external  machinery  her  rule  was  unimpeachable. 

"But,  Eleanor,"  he  said  presently,  "Nina  is  not 
only  your  daughter  but  mine,  you  must  remember ;  and 
for  the  rector's  family  to  draw  back  from  Deane  now — " 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS.  195 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  Dr.  Lydgate ;  I 
must  consider  Nina.  The  little  idiot  is  upon  the  point 
of  falling  in  love  with  him  now.  If  he  gave  her  any 
encouragement,  she  would  be  quite  crazy  about  him. 
But,  to  do  him  justice,  he  is  too  infatuated  with  the 
Leonard  girl,  and  he  looks  upon  Nina  as  a  child." 

"  So  she  is,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Love  !  What  do  they 
know  of  love  at  that  age  ?  But  I  wouldn't  let  her  fancy 
him  persecuted,  if  I  were  you." 

"  There  you  have  one  reason  for  his  leaving  the  par- 
ish. She  does  fancy  him  persecuted  now,  and  to  have 
him  under  her  nose  perpetually — " 

"  Well,  don't  try  to  force  her  into  joining  the  ranks 
of  the  persecutors,"  said  the  doctor,  "  even  in  appear- 
ance. That  is  my  very  strenuous  advice  to  you,  Elea- 
nor." 

"  I  shall  certainly  forbid  her  going  to  the  class  next 
week.  Of  course,  if  you  choose  to  set  your  authority 
against  mine — " 

"  We  shall  see  when  next  week  comes,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, taking  up  his  pen.  "  In  the  mean  time  I  have  my 
sermon  to  write,  and  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  ex- 
cuse me,  my  dear — " 

He  was  always  good-natured  and  courteous ;  it  was 
the  only  way  to  manage,  as  he  often  said.  If  he  had 
worried  himself  over  the  state  of  Nina's  young  affec- 
tions, he  would  have  been  unable  to  write  his  sermon, 
which  was  his  means  of  earning  a  livelihood,  and  clearly 
his  first  duty.  And  the  habit  of  putting  all  disagree- 


196  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

ables  out  of  his  mind  as  far  as  possible  was  so  strong 
upon  him  that  the  matter  did  not  recur  until  the  day 
came  round  again  on  which  the  class  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  meet. 

Mrs.  Lydgate,  in  her  heart,  respected  her  husband's 
advice,  and  stood,  in  addition,  a  little  in  awe  of  the  new 
self-poise  that  had  come  to  her  once  wild,  harum- 
scarum  daughter.  She  did  not  understand  it,  but  it 
impressed  her  in  spite  of  herself,  and  she  was  willing  to 
defer  her  prohibition,  hoping  that  the  day  might  prove 
inclement  or  Nina  have  a  cold,  to  afford  an  excuse  for  it. 

But,  by  the  decrees  of  an  inscrutable  Providence,  the 
sun  had  never  been  brighter  or  Nina  better.  Mrs. 
Lydgate  felt  that  a  life-time  of  strict  attention  to  duty 
had  deserved  a  stronger  partisanship  from  the  celestial 
powers ;  their  indifference  jarred  upon  her  finest  feel- 
ings, and  perhaps  imparted  a  degree  of  acerbity  to  her 
conversation  with  Nina. 

For  the  rector  was  interrupted  again  in  his  sermon 
writing  by  a  tap  at  his  door,  and  looked  up  to  find  his 
youngest  daughter  standing  before  him. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  how  pretty  the  child  is  growing ! " 
was  his  first  thought. 

Her  tall  form  had  still  a  remnant  of  the  lankiness  of 
early  girlhood,  but  at  this  moment,  as  she  stood  drawn 
proudly  to  her  full  height,  yet  trembling  in  spite  of 
herself,  and  leaning  one  hand  upon  the  mantel  for  sup- 
port, it  was  full  of  grace  and  dignity.  Her  features 
were  not  strictly  regular,  but  there  was  a  flush  upon  her 


THE   EDGE   OF   THE   WILDERNESS.  197 

dark  cheek  and  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes  that  made  her 
almost  beautiful,  and  impressed  very  strongly  upon  her 
father  that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  woman  and  not  a  child. 

"Well,  my  dear?" 

"  Papa" — Nina's  voice  shook  a  little,  in  spite  of  her- 
self ;  she  paused  a  moment  to  steady  it — "  papa,  mam- 
ma has  forbidden  me  to  go  to  Mr.  Deane's  Bible-class 
this  afternoon." 

"  Has  she,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa,  because  people  are  unkind  enough  to 
talk  about  him.  As  if  I  cared  for  that ! "  with  fine 
scorn. 

"  There  is  no  reason  to  care,  my  dear,  unless  they 
speak  the  truth." 

"  You  do  not  believe  it,  papa,  or  you  would  not  have 
refused  to  ask  him  to  resign." 

"  I  may  not  thoroughly  approve  of  his  course,  not- 
withstanding, Nina ;  but  for  me  to  throw  him  over- 
board just  now  would  blight  his  whole  life." 

Nina  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"And  if  I  hold  back  from  him,  will  not  people 
infer  that  you  disapprove  of  him  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  said  the  rector,  "  you  hold  back,  in- 
deed !  What  weight  do  you  suppose  attaches  to  the 
countenance  of  a  young  monkey  like  you  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal,  papa,  since  I  am  your  daughter." 

"  But,  my  dear,  it  isn't  exactly  a  woman's  place — I 
mean  a  child's — to  pose  as  a  man's  champion,  let  him 
be  ever  so  maligned." 


198  FROM   DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  I  think  you  do  mean  a  child's,"  said  Nina  steadily. 
I  am  not  a  child  any  more,  papa,  and  I  do  not  see  why, 
if  a  woman  thinks  a  man  all  that  is  good  and  noble,  she 
should  not  say  so,  when  other  people  are  saying  just  the 
reverse." 

"  But  if  she  only  gets  herself  talked  about  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  do  anything  to  make  people  talk.  I 
should  only  go  on  as  I  have  been  doing  all  this  while. 
You  see,  papa,  there  is  no  reason  for  changing  unless  I 
think  ill  of  him,  as  I  assuredly  do  not." 

"  And  yet,  Nina,  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  truth 
in  the  talk  about  him.  He  has  consorted  with  some 
rather  odd  characters,  and  has  taken  part  in  what  are 
called  sectarian  services — " 

"  You  don't  disapprove  of  that,  papa  ?  " 

"  My  disapprobation  is  neither  here  nor  there,"  said 
the  rector.  "  He  doesn't  disapprove  of  it  himself,  but 
other  people  do.  Besides — I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  vio- 
lating his  confidence  in  speaking  of  this  to  such  a  warm 
friend  as  you  are,  my  dear ;  but,  of  course,  you  will  not 
speak  of  it  again — he  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  very  much 
in  love  with  Miss  Leonard ;  very  much  in  love." 

Nina  flushed  up  to  her  forehead,  but  the  steadiness 
of  her  gaze  did  not  waver.  "  I  know  it,"  she  said ; 
"  those  girls  would  never  have  forsaken  him  like  this  if 
it  had  not  been  for  her.  They  say  they  could  stand 
anything  else,  but  when  it  came  to  falling  in  love  with 
a  medium,  it  was  too  disgusting.  Papa,  do  you  think 
she  mesmerized  him  ?  " 


THE  EDGE   OF  THE  WILDERNESS.  199 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  is  quite  the 
other  way ;  he  is  afraid  of  mesmerizing  her." 

Nina  nodded.  "  I  know,"  she  said,  "  he  does,  in  a 
way.  One  can  not  think  wrong  things  or  feel  wrongly 
where  he  is.  He  lifts  one  up,  some  way  or  other — " 

"Vitalizes  one?" 

"  Why,  that's  it,  exactly,"  said  the  girl,  delightedly. 
"  But  why  doesn't  he  want  to  vitalize  her  f  " 

"  He  does,  poor  fellow ;  but  you  can  perhaps  under' 
stand,  my  dear,  that  the  smallest  admixture  of  self- 
will  or  self -pleasing  is  not  vitalizing,  but  mortiferous. 
There !  there's  another  technicality  for  him  !  "  cried  the 
doctor. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Nina.  "  Just  because  he  loves 
her,  he  can  not  try  too  hard  to  influence  her ;  because 
he  might  turn  her  toward  himself  instead  of  to  Christ." 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  said  her  father ;  "  where  did  you 
learn  so  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  sets  one  to  thinking,  always,"  said  Nina, 
"  Papa,  there  must  be  something  very  nice  about  Meta 
Leonard.  First,  Arthur  loved  her,  and  now  Mr.  Deane." 

"  There  used  to  be,"  said  the  doctor. 

Nina  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  then  she  said : 
"  Papa,  do  you  forbid  me  to  go  to  that  class  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  know  I  never  interfere  with  your 
mother's  rules." 

"  But  would  you  have  forbidden  it  if  she  had  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  why  I  should." 

"  And  do  you  not  think,  papa,  that  for  me  to  stay 


200  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

away  will  create  the  impression  that  you  are  against 
him?" 

"  I  think,"  said  the  rector,  "  that  it  would  have  been 
better  if  I  had  announced  from  the  chancel,  last  Sun- 
day, that  the  class  would  be  discontinued  for  the  pres- 
ent. I  shall  speak  to  Deane  about  it." 

Nina  moved  toward  the  door ;  but  before  she  could 
reach  it  her  girlhood  overcame  her — a  sudden  rush  of 
tears  came  to  her  eyes  and  blinded  her.  Convulsed 
with  grief  and  burning  with  shame — for  she  had  not 
yet  passed  the  period  when  tears  are  considered  a  very 
childish  proceeding — Nina  tore  open  the  door,  and, 
rushing  out  in  something  of  her  old  headlong  fashion, 
stumbled  against  a  black  figure  outside,  and  found 
herself  the  next  moment  in  the  arms  of  the  stranger, 
who  proved  to  be  the  Eeverend  Bennet  Lane. 

For  a  moment,  between  tears,  surprise,  consternation, 
and  laughter,  she  lay  quite  still,  unable  to  move  ;  then 
she  tore  herself  from  a  clasp  which,  to  do  Mr.  Lane  jus- 
tice, was  eminently  perfunctory,  and  sped  away,  while 
her  supporter  entered  the  study  in  response  to  the  rec- 
tor's call. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

"  BETTER   MAN",  BETTEE    PKIEST." 

To  say  that  the  Keverend  Bennet  was  surprised  at 
the  burden  so  briefly  laid  upon  him  is  to  keep  very  far 
within  the  limits  of  the  truth.  The  strength  of  a  ha- 
bitual self-control  enabled  him  to  preserve  a  calm  ex- 
terior ;  but  as  he  walked  into  the  doctor's  study,  and 
took  a  chair,  his  celibate  heart  throbbed  in  a  most  unac- 
customed manner,  and  he  wiped  his  clerical  brow  with 
his  immaculate  handkerchief. 

"  How  are  you,  Lane  ? "  said  the  rector.  "  Can't 
complain  of  a  cold  reception,  hey?"  and  he  roared 
with  laughter,  in  a  most  unfeeling  manner,  as  it  seemed 
to  his  guest. 

"  I — ah— er — Miss  Nina — had  you  been  scolding  her, 
doctor  ?  How  had  you  the  heart  to  do  it  ? "  said  the 
Eeverend  Bennet,  with  an  effort  to  cover  his  confusion 
by  facetiousness. 

"  Heart  ?  Oh,  we  have  none  at  my  time  of  life. 
But  the  fact  is,  the  child  is  heart-broken  over  this  busi- 
ness of  Deane's ;  wants  to  champion  his  cause  before  all 
the  world,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  which,  of  course, 
can't  be  allowed." 


202  FROM  DUSK  TO   DAWN. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  visitor  promptly.  He  was 
used  to  a  great  deal  of  a  certain  kind  of  intercourse 
with  young  ladies;  at  Christmas-trees  and  in  Sunday 
school  he  saw  them  continually.  It  is  true  that  none 
of  them  had  as  yet  thrown  their  arms  about  his  neck ; 
he  had  not  consciously  formulated  to  himself  the  fear 
that  they  ever  would.  It  was  simply  a  matter  of  princi- 
ple with  him  to  he  on  his  guard  with  them,  inasmuch 
as  he  never  intended  to  marry — the  angelic  life  being, 
as  we  all  know,  upon  a  much  loftier  spiritual  plane  than 
the  married.  He  was  no  coxscomb,  but  he  could  not 
well  help  being  aware  of  a  certain  feminine  willingness 
to  make  appointments  with  him,  and  to  hold  long  con- 
versations of  a  spiritual  nature ;  also  to  embroider  slip- 
pers for  his  feet  and  rests  for  his  weary  head,  and  gen- 
erally to  endow  him  with  every  conceivable  sort  of  trifle 
for  which  he  had  no  conceivable  use. 

But  here  was  a  girl  who  gave  him  no  chance  to  keep 
her  even  literally  at  arm's  length,  who  burst  through 
his  guard  and  cast  to  the  earth  all  his  reserve,  who 
hurled  herself  into  his  arms  with  her  heart  in  a  tumult  of 
sorrow  and  her  eyes  a  fountain  of  tears — for  another  man ! 

The  Reverend  Bennet  Lane  felt  a  queer  feeling,  as 
little  Lord  Fauntleroy  would  say.  He  did  not  think 
she  was  in  love  with  the  other  man ;  he  was  too  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  type  of  emotion  not  to  recognize  it ; 
but — all  this,  and  not  for  him  !  It  distinctly  made  him 
feel  a  queer  feeling. 

"  No,"  said  the  rector ;  "  and  yet  I  hardly  knew  what 


"BETTER   MAtf,  BETTER   PRIEST."  203 

to  say  to  her.  A  young,  generous,  innocent  thing  like 
that ;  one  doesn't  like  to  train  and  discipline  her  into  con- 
ventional selfishness — but  a  girl  of  seventeen  caii't  be  al- 
lowed to  come  forward  as  a  man's  champion,  you  know." 

"  Why — why — it  would  be  outrageous — unheard  of ! " 
said  Mr.  Lane,  stammering  with  eagerness.  "  What — 
how — what  does  she  mean  to  do  ?  " 

In  a  few  words  the  rector  explained.  "  I  wish  I  had 
thought  of  it  on  Sunday,"  he  said ;  "  a  temporary  dis- 
continuance of  the  class  is  the  most  dignified  course  for 
him  at  present." 

"  He  refuses  to  give  up  that  fellow  Gold,  does  he  ?  " 
asked  the  guest. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  did  not  ask  him.  He  is  so 
sincere  and  earnest,  poor  fellow,  and  he  carries  one 
along,  somehow." 

"  Ah — er — yes,  probably.  But  about  the  class.  It 
meets  this  afternoon,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  What  is  left  of  it.  Yes,  I  wish  I  had  thought  of 
it;  but — well,  well,  Lane,  when  you  come  to  be  a 
married  man  you  will  learn  the  value  of  a  temporizing 
and  procrastinating  policy.  The  worst  is,  that  one  gets 
into  the  habit  of  it." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  marry,"  said  Mr.  Lane,  rising 
and  drawing  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "  Can  I 
take  Deane  any  message  from  you,  sir  ?  I  am  going  to 
his  rooms.  Perhaps  some  excuse  can  be  found  for  this 
afternoon." 

"  Ah  !  the  very  thing,"  said  the  doctor.    "  There  is 


204:  FROM   DUSK  TO   DAWN. 

no  use,"  he  added  to  himself  when  the  visitor  had  de- 
parted, "  in  letting  the  child  set  herself  in  opposition  to 
her  mother  for  nothing  and  before  her  time  comes,"  but 
whether  so  to  set  herself  or  no,  was  just  what  that 
young  lady  had  not  determined. 

"  Which  was  right  ?  "  She  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  either  to  desert  Cyril  or  to  fly  in  the  face  of  her 
mother's  orders. 

However,  one  thing  was  clearly  right — namely,  to  go 
and  call  upon  the  spectacled  young  lady.  "  For  it 
would  be  dreadful  to  let  Susie  go  there  and  be  the  only 
one,"  said  Nina  to  herself. 

As  she  passed  her  mother's  door,  in  hat  and  cloak, 
Mrs.  Lydgate  called  to  know  where  she  was  going. 
"  To  Susie's,"  said  Nina.  "  If  I  don't  go  to  the  class,  I 
must  keep  her  from  going.  She  would  not  like  to  be 
the  only  one  there." 

Her  mother  offered  no  more  objections,  and  Nina 
passed  on,  saying  to  herself  despairingly  :  "  I  am  afraid 
that  settles  it.  If  I  were  to  go  there  now,  mamma 
would  think  to  the  end  of  her  days  that  I  had  told  a 
deliberate  lie." 

The  spectacled  young  lady  was  in  bed  with  a  nervous 
headache,  as  it  turned  out ;  but  she  sent  for  Nina  to 
come  up-stairs.  "  Oh  !  you  dear  thing  ! "  she  said  faint- 
ly, from  the  midst  of  blankets,  camphor-cloths,  and  hot- 
water  bags,  "  it's  just  a  special  providence  that  you've 
come !  Do  tell  that  saint  and  martyr  that  it's  not  my 
fault  if  I  seem  to  desert  him." 


"BETTER   MAN,  BETTER  PRIEST."  205 

"  But,  Susie,  how  can  I  go  there  alone  ?  " 

"  0  Nina,  don't  be  a  coward !  As  if  there  were 
any  harm  in  it !  " 

"  Of  course  there  is  no  harm,  except  that  mamma 
forbids  my  going — " 

«  — Ever  any  more  ?  "  cried  Susie,  starting  up  in  bed, 
to  the  utter  neglect  of  the  hot- water  bag,  which  avenged 
itself  by  sliding  down  the  pillow  to  the  small  of  her  back. 

"  Ever  any  more,"  said  Nina  tearfully. 

Susie  sank  back  upon  her  pillows,  pressing  her 
hands  to  her  temples,  in  an  attitude  of  very  real 
anguish  :  "  Oh,  my  head  ! "  she  moaned.  "  I — can't — 
talk." 

"  Don't  try,"  said  Nina.  She  rescued  the  water  bag, 
rearranged  pillows  and  blankets,  and  poured  a  fresh 
supply  of  camphor  on  her  friend's  handkerchief ;  but 
all  with  a  fainting  heart.  As  she  would  have  left  the 
room  silently  and  cautiously,  Susie  put  forth  a  hot 
hand  and  held  her  fast. 

"  Don't  give  in  to  your  mother,"  she  said ;  "  she 
doesn't  understand.  Go !  don't  desert  him,  whatever 
you  do.  Do  you  promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise — to  do  right,  if  I  can,"  said  Nina.  "  I 
don't  seem  to  know  what  that  is,  Susie." 

"  It's  right  to  stand  by  the  oppressed  and  maligned  ! " 
gasped  the  spectacled  young  lady.  She  looked  very 
young  and  very  wild  without  her  spectacles,  and  with 
her  near-sighted  eyes  frowning  from  beneath  a  camphor 
bandage,  and  her  luxuriant  hair  all  abroad  over  the  pil- 


206  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

lows.  Nina  was  half  afraid  of  her.  "  You'll  not  be  a 
coward  and  desert  him,"  she  said,  grasping  Nina's  hand 
very  tight. 

"I'll  not  be  a  coward,  and  I'll  not  desert  him,"  said 
Nina  categorically.  "  You  mustn't  talk  now,  dear. 
Good-by,"  she  added  hurriedly. 

But  Nina  was  not  at  all  decided  as  to  the  limits  of 
desertion  and  cowardice  in  her  own  case.  Of  course, 
Mr.  Deane  would  not  think  of  giving  the  lesson  to  her 
alone.  Could  she  not  go  and  tell  him  of  Susie's  indis- 
position, and  so  leave  the  question  open  for  another 
week  ?  But  then  it  would  be  a  thing  that  could  not  be 
mentioned  at  home ;  she  should  feel  underhanded  and 
mean,  she  said  to  herself  energetically.  Besides,  Mr. 
Deane — how  should  she  face  him,  burdened  with  con- 
scious wrong-doing,  even  though  he  should  never  find 
out.  But  find  out  ?  That  was  indeed  a  lame  and  impo- 
tent conclusion,  when  she  should,  of  course,  go  straight 
and  tell  him.  Arguing  thus  with  herself,  she  came  to 
the  corner  where  she  would  have  had  to  turn  to  reach 
the  church.  But  she  kept  straight  on,  and  in  so  doing 
passed  another  corner  in  her  own  life.  At  the  next 
turning,  which  was  close  by  the  rectory,  she  once  more 
encountered  the  Eeverend  Bennet  Lane. 

"  I  did  not  run  into  you  this  time,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing and  blushing  a  good  deal. 

"  Your  father  told  me  you  were  troubled  about  our 
friend  Mr.  Deane,"  he  said ;  and  it  became  quite  clear 
to  the  Reverend  Bennet  at  the  moment  that  unless  he 


"BETTER  MAN,  BETTER  PRIEST."  207 

should  turn  back  to  the  rectory  with  Miss  Nina  her 
maidenly  delicacy  would  imagine  that  he  had  attached 
more  weight  to  their  previous  collision  than  was  actu- 
ally the  case,  and  be  seriously  hurt  and  wounded.  "  I 
think  with  the  help  of  his  friends  he  will  live  it  down," 
he  went  on,  as  he  walked  beside  her. 

"  And,  oh,  are  you  one  of  his  friends  ?  Are  you  on 
his  side  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  am  his  friend,"  said  Mr.  Lane  with  cau- 
tious fervor,  for  he  could  not  truthfully  call  himself  on 
Cyril's  side. 

"  Then  I  wish  you  were  the  bishop ;  but  you  are 
only  a  curate,  aren't  you  ? '' 

"  That's  all,"  he  said  humbly. 

"  Well,  any  way,  it's  very  good  of  you ;  for  you 
can't  really  sympathize  with  him,  since  you  think  it  so 
wrong  for  a  clergyman  to  marry." 

"  Ah — er — a — but  you  know  that  is  entirely  personal, 
Miss  Nina.  I  may — er — not  choose  to  marry — myself, 
but  I  would  not  lay  down  the  law  for  others.  Besides 
— oh !  I  don't  think  it  wrong,  you  know ;  there  is  no 
law  binding  a  priest  of  the  English  or  American  Church. 
At  most,  it  is  merely  a  question  of  expediency — and — 
as  his  high-church  conscience  smote  him — "  of  the  coun- 
sels of  perfection." 

"  Oh— h  ! "  said  Nina.  "  Well,  I  thought  you  thought 
it  wrong.  By  the  by,  shall  you  see  Mr.  Deane  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

"  I  am  going  directly  there,  when  I  have — " 


208  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Oh !  Don't  turn  out  of  your  way  on  my  account," 
said  Nina.  "  Will  you  tell  him  that  Susie  Prond  has  a 
bad  headache,  and  I — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I'll  tell  him,"  he  broke  in,  as  she  hesitated. 

"I  wanted  to  come,  but  couldn't,"  finished  Nina. 
"  I  wonder  now  how  I  could  have  hesitated.  But,  do 
you  know,  it  really  seemed  almost  my  duty  to  take  his 
part,  even  if  I  had  to  be  deceitful  and  disobedient  at 
home." 

"  And  what  showed  you  your  real  duty  ?  "  he  asked, 
glancing  with  furtive  admiration  at  the  girl's  bright 
face. 

"  His  own  goodness,"  she  said.  "  I  could  not  do  a 
wrong  thing  for  his  sake ;  he  would  rather  die.  Or,  if 
I  did  the  thing,  I  could  not  look  him  in  the  face  with- 
out telling  him  all  about  it.  It  is  so  strange,  Mr.  Lane, 
how  telling  him  of  a  wrong  thing  seems  to  take  it  en- 
tirely away  from  one's  conscience.  He  never  scolds  nor 
preaches ;  but  one  simply  does  not  want  to  do  that 
wrong  thing  again — even  the  temptation  is  gone.  Do 
you  suppose  that  may  be  the  origin  of  confession  ?  " 

"  But  Deane  is  not  in  priest's  orders,"  he  said,  with 
a  gasping  clutch  at  the  only  portion  of  her  speech  he 
had  understood. 

"  I  don't  see  that  that  matters,  if  he  can  forgive 
sins,"  said  Nina. 

«  But— but— " 

"  I'm  not  talking  theology,  but  hard  sense,"  said  the 
girl  coolly.  "  Aren't  my  sins  forgiven  if  I  don't  want 


"BETTER  MAN,  BETTER  PRIEST."  209 

to  sin  any  more  ?  And  if  Mr.  Deane,  merely  by  being 
so  good,  makes  me  ashamed  and  afraid  to  do  anything 
wrong,  doesn't  he  forgive  me  every  bit  as  much  as  you 
could,  by  saying — absolvo  te  ?  More,  perhaps,  because  I 
might  confess  to  you  and  do  the  same  thing  over  again ; 
but  with  him,  I  couldn't — at  least,  not  so  easily." 

"  I  dare  say  not.  Oh !  I  do  not  pretend  to  be — why 
Deane,  you  know,  is  a  man  in  whom  the  spiritual  life 
has  attained  wonderful  development.  I !  Well,  I'm 
only  a  common  sort  of  fellow ;  but  that  doesn't  touch 
the  fact  that  I  am  a  priest,  and  he  isn't.  I  have  power 
and  authority  to  celebrate  the  blessed  sacrament  and 
to — to  pronounce  absolution ;  and  he  hasn't,  as  yet." 

"  Well,  he  does  it  just  the  same — oh  !  I  don't  mean 
the  holy  communion,"  said  the  girl ;  "  and  he  wouldn't 
without  authority,  you  know.  Why,  that's  what  obe- 
dience means — not  to  act  without  authority,  isn't  it? 
But,  as  to  priest's  orders,  if  the  power  the  apostles  had 
to  forgive  sins  were  just  the  same  as  Mr.  Deane's — and 
I  dare  say  it  was,  for  our  Lord  said,  '  Whosesoever  sins 
ye  remit,  they  are  remitted  unto  them ' — and  it  is  just 
so  with  him — why,  what  is  the  use  of  priest's  orders, 
any  way  ?  Isn't  he  just  as  good  a  priest  as  you  ?  " 

"  Better — in  that  way,"  said  Bennet  Lane,  with  a 
melancholy  smile.  He  took  her  hand,  for  they  had  now 
reached  the  rectory.  "  Good-by,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will  do 
all  I  can  for  Deane,  you  know.  Don't  you  worry." 

"  Oh !   I  won't,"  said  Nina  easily.     But  she  looked 

after  him  kindly.     "  He's  a  funny  sort  of  a  man,  but 
14 


210  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

it's  rather  nice  of  him  to  take  Mr.  Deane's  part,  when 
he  thinks  so  differently,"  she  said  to  herself. 

While  Bennet  Lane  as  he  walked  away,  not  quite 
with  his  usual  briskness,  felt  once  more  within  his  arms 
the  trembling,  fluttering,  palpitating  form  that  had 
rested  there  so  brief  a  space,  but  to  such  large  following. 
The  memory  thrilled  him  from  head  to  foot ;  then,  with 
the  sharpest  pang  of  remorse  he  had  ever  known,  came 
the  words :  "  I  might  confess  to  you  and  do  the  same 
thing  over  again,  but  with  him  I  couldn't — at  least,  not 
so  easily."  There  was  truth  in  it ;  he  must  admit  that. 
No  doubt  the  personal  character  of  the  priest — what  a 
fine  character  hers  was,  by  the  by  !  How  true,  steadfast, 
and  self-sacrificing  ! 

He  gave  Cyril  the  rector's  note,  and  told  him  of 
Miss  Frond's  headache  with  painstaking  conscientious- 
ness. Then  he  went  away  to  his  clergy  house,  without 
the  heart  to  read  his  friend  the  lecture  he  had  intended, 
whereat  Cyril,  whose  heart  had  sunk  at  sight  of  the 
reverend  countenance,  did  mightily  rejoice. 

"  Something's  bothered  him,"  he  said,  with  imme- 
diate compunction.  "  Poor  old  chap  ! " 

The  something  was  the  beating  of  a  girlish  heart 
against  his  own,  the  direct  gaze  of  a  pair  of  frank, 
sweet,  brown  eyes,  and  a  voice  saying :  "  I  could  not  do 
a  wrong  thing  for  his  sake ;  he  would  rather  die.  Why 
isn't  he  as  good  a  priest  as  you  ?  " 

"  Better — much  better  ! "  he  repeated,  with  a  groan. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  THE   WING    OF   THE    DESTROYER." 

"  IT  is  unfortunate  about  the  class,"  Dr.  Lydgate 
had  said,  as  he  gave  Mr.  Lane  the  note  to  Cyril,  "  es- 
pecially unfortunate  just  at  this  time,  as  I  want  to  keep 
the  boy  busy,  so  busy  that  he  will  have  no  time  for 
faith-cure  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"It  is  always  so,"  replied  the  Reverend  Bennet 
sadly ;  "  the  very  remedies  one  would  use  in  any  special 
case  are  made  impossible  by  the  world's  uncharity.  But 
Deane  is  a  fortunate  fellow  in  one  respect,  sir ;  it  is  not 
every  rector  who  would  be  as  forbearing  as  you  are,  or 
as  considerate." 

"  Well,  you  know,  when  I  am  with  him  the  fellow's 
enthusiasm  carries  me  along,  and  I  almost  believe  in  his 
vitalism,  as  he  calls  it,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate.  "  And,  after 
all,  you  know,  there  is  a  good  deal  in  it,  and  would  be 
more  but  for  the  very  uncharity  you  speak  of.  It  isn't 
only  unfaith  that  prevents  the  working  of  miracles ;  it 
is  because  they  require  a  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull 
and  a  pull  altogether,  and  that  we  are  too  disunited  to 
give." 

"  It  was  when  the  disciples  were  '  all  together  in  one 


212  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

place,'  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  that  the  Holy  Ghost 
fell  upon  them,"  said  Bennet  Lane.  "  You  are  quite 
right,  Dr.  Lydgate;  the  days  of  miracles  can  never 
return  until  the  reunion  of  Christendom  has  been 
accomplished.  That  is  why  it  is  so  absurd  for  a  fellow 
like  this  Gold — a  schismatic  and  heretic — to  pretend  to 
do  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  Humph,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate,  "  I  wouldn't  get  my- 
self between  the  horns  of  that  dilemma  if  I  were 
you.  Either  he  does  not  work  these  cures,  or  he  is 
not  a  schismatic;  and — but  if  we  get  into  an  argu- 
ment on  that  point,  I  may  as  well  send  my  note  by 
post,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  saying  so."' 

The  rector  said  afterward  that  Providence  had 
taken  out  of  his  hands  the  question  of  employment  for 
Cyril.  It  proved  to  be  a  sickly  winter.  Scarlet  fever, 
diphtheria,  and  kindred  diseases  had  been  prevalent  for 
months  among  the  children;  and  now  came  such  an 
outbreak  of  small-pox  as  had  not  scourged  the  city  for 
twenty  years.  The  public  schools  were  closed,  the 
churches  well-nigh  deserted  ;  men  shunned  the  society 
of  their  nearest  friends  lest  they  should  give  or  receive 
infection. 

"  We  poison  one  another  every  day  with  our  sins," 
said  Felix  Gold  mournfully,  "  nor  for  that  do  we  fear 
the  face  of  our  brother;  but  to  poison  the  blood,  so 
that  the  hidden  corruption  breaks  forth  in  loathsome 
sores  ;  ah !  that  we  do  both  fear  and  flee.  Is  it  not  so, 
Cyril?" 


"THE  WING  OF  THE  DESTROYER."  213 

"  It  is  the  result  of  unlovingness,  and  breeds  its  own 
kind,"  said  Cyril.  "  Those  set  to  watch  for  the  health 
of  the  city  have  been  false  to  their  charge ;  or  rather 
no  charge  was  laid  upon  them.  They  were  appointed 
under  the  spoils  system,  the  great  national  grab-game 
of  devil  take  the  hindmost;  they  have  kept  their 
pledges,  to  draw  their  pay  and  work  for  the  party, 
and  the  devil  is  now  fulfilling  his  part  of  the  con- 
tract." 

The  disease  was  particularly  virulent  in  the  badly 
drained  malodorous  section  in  which  the  "  Nineteenth 
Century  Mission  "  was  situated,  though  scarcely  a  street 
in  the  city  was  exempt ;  as  in  the  plague  which  once 
fell  upon  Egypt,  there  was  almost  literally  not  a  house 
in  which  there  was  not  one  dead,  or  ill  at  the  least.  In 
the  abodes  of  the  rich,  husbands  forsook  their  wives, 
and  wives  their  husbands,  at  the  approach  of  the  de- 
stroyer; fathers  left  their  children  to  die  alone,  and 
mothers — no !  mothers  gathered  their  babes  into  their 
arms,  kissed  the  poison  from  their  little  fevered  lips, 
and  died  with  them ! 

But  the  poor  died  in  throngs  every  day.  It  was 
hard  to  get  hearses  enough  even  to  bury  the  rich,  and 
well-nigh  impossible  to  find  nurses  for  either  rich  or 
poor.  The  physicians — heaven  bless  them  ! — worked 
night  and  day;  the  clergy,  without  regard  to  creed, 
were  here,  there,  and  everywhere ;  the  sisterhoods,  both 
Roman  and  Protestant,  did  work  which  would  have 
seemed  impossible  for  ten  times  their  numerical,  and  a 


214  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

hundred  times  their  physical,  strength  ;  but  the  disease 
held  its  own. 

Among  the  hardest,  most  earnest  workers  were 
Felix  Gold,  his  wife,  and  Cyril  Deane. 

"  So  you  don't  undertake  to  cure  small-pox  by 
faith  only  ?  "  said  sneeringly  a  newly  fledged  physician 
who,  in  the  early  part  of  the  epidemic,  came  upon  the 
young  evangelist  and  healer  administering  the  medi- 
cine he  had  prescribed. 

"  Not  by  faith  only"  said  Felix  Gold,  turning  his 
luminous  dark  eyes  upon  the  questioner.  "  Never- 
theless, 0  friend,  tell  me  this :  Can  your  physic  only 
cure  this  evil  while  the  sewers  and  vaults  about  us  con- 
tinue to  belch  forth  poison  ?  " 

"  Any  fool  can  answer  that  question,"  returned  the 
doctor. 

At  the  moment  the  door  was  thrown  suddenly  and 
violently  open  to  admit  a  white-haired  urchin  of  about 
six  years,  who,  clinging  to  Gold's  knees,  sobbed  out  a 
petition  that  he  would  come  to  daddy,  who  was  "  so 
sick,  and  swearing  awful." 

With  the  boy  in  his  arms,  Felix  Gold  turned  to  the 
doctor.  "Come,"  he  said,  with  a  look  of  strange  au- 
thority. 

In  a  room  on  the  next  floor  they  found  the  mother 
of  the  child,  who  was  indeed  no  other  than  the  woman 
who  had  gone  up  for  healing  on  the  evening  of  Cyril's 
first  visit  to  the  mission. 

The  room  was  as  clean  as  hands  could  make  it,  but 


"THE  WING  OF  THE  DESTROYER."  215 

infected  with  the  imsavoriness  of  the  rest  of  the  house ; 
and  on  the  bed  lay  a  huge  animal-like  man,  with  the 
flushed  face  and  glaring  eyes  of  delirium,  raving  and 
cursing  like  a  madman. 

The  physician  shook  his  head.  "  Suppressed  small- 
pox," he  said.  "  He  has  taken  cold  or  something,  and 
the  disease  has  gone  to  his  brain  instead  of  coming  out 
properly  on  his  skin." 

"  He  keeps  the  bar  at  the  corner,  you  know,"  said 
the  wife.  "  I  suppose  he  took  it  from  the  money  he  had 
to  handle ;  and  then,  being  drunk,  and  lying  outside  the 
door  in  the  rain  and  snow  all  night — 0  Mr.  Gold, 
can't  you  save  him  ?  " 

"  God  Almighty  himself  could  scarcely — well," 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  met  Felix  Gold's  eyes ;  "  one 
doesn't  know  what  He  can  do,  but  I  doubt  if  any  one 
else,  quack  or  regular  practitioner,  can  do  much  for 
him.  However,  one  can  but  try,  though  why  one 
should  for  a  drunken,  worthless  beast  like  this,"  he 
muttered,  mixing  some  medicine  in  a  tumbler. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  good  man  to  me  when  he  ain't  been 
drinking  ! "  sobbed  the  woman.  "  It's  the  devil  that 
gets  into  him  then,  Mr.  Gold ;  the  same  devil  that 
makes  him  call  bad  names  at  you  and  curse  you  on  the 
street.  But  you  won't  bear  malice  at  him  for  that,  sir  ? 
0  Mr.  Gold,  I  ain't  got  no  confidence  in  them  doc- 
tors ;  won't  you  try  ?  " 

"  He  knows  better,"  said  the  doctor  with  a  laugh, 
as  he  approached  the  bed,  glass  in  hand.  "  However, 


216  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

you  have  muscular  strength  in  plenty,  Mr.  Gold,  and 
in  case  our  patient  should  prove  a  thought  intracta- 
ble— "  At  which  word  -the  patient  sprang  at  him  with 
a  hideous  curse,  struck  the  glass  from  his  hand  to  the 
floor,  and  would  have  fastened  upon  his  throat  but  for 
the  quick  interposition  of  Felix  Gold,  who  had  put  the 
boy  from  his  arms  in  readiness  for  some  such  event. 

"  You  see,  friend,"  he  said,  as  they  together  held  the 
maniac  down,  "  that  medicine  only  can  not  save.  Let 
go  your  hold  of  him." 

"  And  have  you  torn  to  pieces  ?  "  gasped  the  young 
doctor. 

"  I  am  in  no  danger.     Let  him  go,  or  I  will" 

The  doctor  sprang  back  from  the  bed  as  if  he  had 
been  shot.  Felix  Gold  looked  steadily  into  the  face  of 
the  man  thus  abandoned  to  him.  It  was  blood-red,  the 
eyes  glaring  with  insane  fury,  the  lips  drawn  back  from 
the  teeth  in  a  beast-like  snarl.  The  face  was  very  near 
his  own,  the  strong  burning  hands  were  on  his  shoul- 
ders, but  with  one  hand  upon  the  naked  breast  Felix 
Gold  kept  him  off,  while  he  laid  the  other  hand  upon 
the  burning  forehead  of  the  maniac. 

"  Man  ! "  he  said ;  "  my  brother,  for  whom  Christ 
died,  I  command  thee  to  conquer  the  devil  that  is  in 
thee,  and  to  submit  thyself  to  the  will  of  God,  who  has 
sent  this  illness  for  thy  sins  and  for  the  sins  of  others." 

Without  any  visible  force  from  the  two  strong,  ten- 
der hands  upon  him,  the  man  fell  back  upon  his  pillows, 
and  lay  there  glaring. 


"THE  WING  OF  THE  DESTROYER."  217 

"  Now  your  medicine,  doctor,"  said  Felix  Gold,  with- 
out removing  the  touch  of  his  hands  or  wavering  in  his 
steady  gaze. 

The  young  physician  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but 
obeyed.  Felix  took  the  glass  in  his  right  hand,  and 
placed  his  left  under  the  head  of  the  patient  instead  of 
upon  his  brow.  "  Arise,"  he  said,  "  and  drink,  in  the 
Lord's  name,  the  potion  he  hath  sent  thee." 

The  maniac  obeyed  like  a  child,  and  Felix  laid 
him  back  upon  his  pillows  and  covered  him  warmly. 
"  Sleep  now,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  and  may  the  Lord  heal 
thee ! " 

The  man  turned  over  in  his  bed,  composed  his  huge 
limbs,  and  closed  his  eyes.  For  a  moment  longer  Felix 
stood  beside  him,  until  his  slumber  became  assured, 
then  he  turned  gently  away.  "  Now,  will  you  give  your 
orders,  doctor,  as  to  his  treatment  when  he  wakes  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  If  that's  your  kind  of  faith-cure,  it's  more  sensible 
than  the  ordinary  sort,"  said  the  doctor,  as  they  left 
the  house  together.  "  You  do  not  despise  medicine, 
then?" 

"  The  best  medicine  of  all  is  prayer,"  returned  Felix 
Gold ;  "  but  God  has  made  also  the  herbs  of  the  field 
for  the  use  of  man ;  if,  as  food,  they  keep  him  in  health 
and  strength,  may  he  not  also  use  them  as  medicine  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  very  sensible  way  of  looking  at  it,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"  And  yet,"  resumed  Felix  Gold  with  a  smile,  "  it 


218  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

will  some  day  be  possible  to  do  without  medicine. 
Sickness  is  an  offense  against  the  will  of  God,  and, 
when  all  men  realize  that,  there  will  be  no  more 
sickness.  Even  now  are  there  diseases  which  can  be 
cured  by  the  will  of  the  sufferer  only,  aided,  perhaps, 
when  sore  enfeebled  by  sin,  by  the  will  of  the  healer, 
which  is — must  be,  really  to  heal — one  with  the  will  of 
God.  But  until  we  have  learned  how  in  all  diseases  to 
apply  this  power,  and  to  vitalize  the  will,  and  through 
it  the  whole  moral  and  physical  nature,  we  must  be 
content  to  use  natural  remedies.  Moreover,  sin  is  so 
often  the  accompaniment  as  well  as  the  cause  of  illness, 
that  medicines  often  aid  the  weak  will  to  bring  both 
body  and  soul  to  such  an  approach  to  health  as  to  be 
able  to  work  out  the  remainder  of  their  own  salva- 
tion." 

"  That's  the  most  sensible  fool  I  ever  saw,"  said 
the  young  doctor,  retailing  this  conversation,  that 
same  evening,  for  the  benefit  of  several  brethren  in 
the  profession. 

"  Fool  ? "  said  one  of  them,  who  had  only  not 
grown  gray  in  the  profession  because  his  head  was  as 
bare  as  the  palm  of  one's  hand  ;  "  fool,  do  you  say  ?  I 
advise  you,  sir,  not  to  talk  about  fools.  'Vitalize  the 
patient's  will-power.'  It  is  what  every  good  doctor 
under  heaven  tries  to  do,  sir ;  it's  what  we  mean  by  the 
moral  effect  of  a  medicine.  And  you'll  find,  sir,  as  you 
grow  older  and  wiser,  that  in  proportion  as  you  suc- 
ceed in  this  you  will  cure  your  patients.  If  you  can't 


"THE  WING  OP  THE  DESTROYER."  219 

do  it,  or  won't  do  it,  then  for  heaven's  sake  go  and 
hang  yourself,  and  let  somebody  else  have  a  chance." 

"  But — oh !  of  course  I  know  all  about  the  moral 
effect  of  medicines." 

"  You  do,  sir  ?  Then  in  the  name  of  Providence 
teach  the  rest  of  us,  for  we  know  very  little." 

"You'd  better  get  this  man  Gold  to  teach  you," 
said  the  young  doctor,  laughing — for  he  was  a  good- 
natured  fellow,  and  the  old  doctor's  sarcasms  were 
without  venom — "  I  believe  he  professes  to  understand 
it.  He  comes  in  the  name  of  Jesus — that's  the  comical 
side  of  it.  Of  course  it's  all  the  effect  of  the  imagina- 
tion—" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  old  doctor,  "  if  you  can  take  a 
man's  mind  to  pieces,  and  say  this  is  will,  this  imagina- 
tion, and  this  faith,  you  are  cleverer  than  I  am.  You 
can't  do  it  with  his  body  unless  he's  dead — that  is, 
beyond  a  certain  limit.  You  can  cut  off  his  leg  or 
his  arm,  or  remove  a  piece  of  his  skull,  because  it  isn't 
the  leg  that  walks,  the  head  that  thinks,  or  the  arm 
that  cuts  down  a  tree — it's  the  whole  man,  the  indi- 
vidual, the  personality  that  does  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  what  I  want  to  get  at  is  this.  Of 
course,  I  know  you  can  cure  a  man  of  some  diseases 
with  pure  water  if  he  thinks  there's  a  tincture  in  it ; 
and  I'm  perfectly  willing  to  humbug  him  that  or  any 
other  way,  if  it's  for  his  good ;  even  to  the  extent 
of  a  conjuration  in  the  name  of  a  man  who,  if  he  ever 
lived,  has  been  dead  eighteen  hundred  years ;  but  you 


220  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

can  not  prevent  my  thinking  it  a  pretty  good  joke  all 
the  same." 

"  That's  how  you  kill  your  patients,"  said  the  old 
doctor  dryly.  "Sir,  as  you  grow  older  you  will  find 
that  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  been  by  no  means  dead 
for  eighteen  hundred  years,  or  anything  like  it;  and 
as  for  conjuring  in  his  name,  in  what  other  name 
under  heaven  would  you  conjure,  may  I  ask  ?  Do  I 
understand  you  to  say  that  the  man  claims  to  be  able 
to  vitalize  the  will-power  in  the  name  and  through  the 
power  of  Jesus,  so  as  to  stimulate  the  patient  to  throw 
off  the  disease  ?  " 

"  That's  it,  sir ;  he  calls  the  power  vitalism,  or 
something  like  that." 

"  I  shall  call  upon  him,  or  try  to  find  him  some- 
where," said  the  old  physician.  "  I  am  too  old  and  too 
case-hardened  to  try  that  sort  of  thing  myself  ;  but  it  is 
just  possible  he  has  made  what  we  call  a  great  scientific 
discovery — that  is  to  say,  found  the  formula  which  ex- 
presses what  all  of  us  have  known  since  we  could  speak." 

It  was  upon  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  that 
Felix  Gold,  going  his  rounds  from  house  to  house,  wher- 
ever the  yellow  flag  signified  the  presence  of  the  de- 
stroyer, came  upon  the  Keverend  Bennet  Lane,  praying 
by  the  bedside  of  a  sufferer.  Felix  would  have  passed 
out  again  as  quietly  as  he  had  entered,  but  the  patient, 
a  girl,  who  had  heard — as  had  most  people  in  Fairtown 
by  this  time — of  his  mysterious  power,  stretched  out 
her  hands  to  him  imploringly. 


"THE  WING   OF  THE  DESTROYER."  221 

"  0  Brother  Gold,"  she  cried,  for  so  he  was  usually 
addressed,  "  0  Brother  Gold  ! " 

He  came  close  to  the  bed  and  looked  down  upon 
her,  with  his  strong,  sweet  smile.  Bennet  Lane  rose 
from  his  knees  and  looked  upon  the  heretic  and  sec- 
tarian, half  in  curiosity,  half  in  disgust.  Felix  Gold 
put  out  his  hand  to  him,  frankly  and  kindly. 

"  They  have  whims,"  he  said,  "  these  poor  sick  little 
ones,  or  perhaps  God  has  sent  me  to  her — who  knows  ? 
Shall  we  wait  to  know,  you  and  I  ?  " 

Bennet  Lane  could  not  refuse  the  hand,  he  could 
not  make  any  disturbance  that  would  endanger  the  sick 
girl's  life ;  but  he  felt  injured,  insulted,  by  the  intru- 
sion of  this  man  who  called  himself  a  clergyman, 
who  had  broken  into  the  sheepfold  another  way  than 
through  the  door  of  regular  orders — at  the  bedside  of 
this  girl,  one  of  his  own  penitents,  for  whom  he  was 
responsible  to  the  Head  of  the  Church. 

"  Brother  Gold,  pray  for  me,  save  me  !  I  want  to 
get  well.  I  don't  want  to  die ! "  she  cried  half  de- 
liriously. 

"  But  you  know,  Mary,  that  in  exciting  yourself 
thus  you  increase  the  chances  against  your  recovery," 
broke  in  her  spiritual  guide,  a  trifle  impatiently. 

Felix  Gold  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  grave  sur- 
prise. "  Would  you  reason  with  one  beyond  reason  ?  " 
he  said.  "  Be  still ! " — as  Mr.  Lane  would  have  spoken 
further — "  I  bid  you  to  be  still." 

He  turned  to  the  girl  with  gentle  tenderness.     "  My 


222  FROM  BUSK  TO  DAWN. 

child,"  he  said,  "  what  I  can  do  for  you  I  will ;  but  all 
is  in  God's  hands.  Why  wish  you  so  to  live  ?  " 

"  For  Tom,"  cried  the  girl,  "  oh,  for  Tom  !  Him 
and  me  are  engaged,  we  are ;  but  if  I  die,  Tom  will  go 
to  the  bad.  He  says  so,  and  I  know  he  will.  And, 
Brother  Gold,  don't  let  me  get  well  ugly,  for  then  Tom 
will  not  love  me." 

"  That  is  love  you  are  better  without — "  began  Ben- 
net  Lane,  but  Felix  held  up  his  hand  authoritatively. 
"  Hush ! "  he  said,  and  then  to  the  girl :  "  Do  you 
think  God  wishes  you  to  be  ugly,  or  Tom  to  go  to  the 
bad  ?  No  ?  But,  you  know,  if  you  pick  your  face  " — as 
in  her  agitation  she  was  beginning  to  do — "  you  will 
be  ugly ;  and  if  you  cry  and  fret  you  will  die ;  and  then 
if  Tom  makes  up  his  mind  to  go  to  the  bad,  to  the  bad 
will  he  go,  assuredly.  Therefore,  I  will  kneel  beside 
you,  and  we  will  lay  it  all  in  God's  hands — is  it  not  so  ? 
and  then  you  will  have  medicine  and  food — here  is 
your  mother  with  both.  Ah !  so  many  sick  in  this 
great  town  have  no  kind  mothers  to  wait  on  them — and 
you  will  sleep  and  grow  strong." 

He  waited  to  see  her  quiet,  and  to  give  her  himself 
a  little  milk  before  he  went  forth  again.  The  Keverend 
Bennet,  whom  he  met  again  on  the  street,  passed  him 
with  only  a  grave  bow,  whereat  Felix  smiled  half  sadly. 

"  Your  friend  Mr.  Lane,"  he  said  to  Cyril  when 
they  met  that  evening,  "  he  thinks  I  have  intruded  on 
his  parish ;  but  the  little  one  needed  me,  and  he  knew 
not  the  food  wherewith  to  feed  her." 


"THE  WING  OF  THE  DESTROYER."          223 

"  Yet  he  calls  himself  her  pastor,  and  denies  your 
right  or  ability  to  feed  any  with  the  bread  of  life,"  said 
Cyril  a  little  hotly,  for  he  was  worn  and  weary. 

"  And  that !  what  is  it?  "  said  Felix  Gold.  "  Does 
it  matter  to  me  what  any  may  think  of  me  or  my  office, 
save  those  to  whom  the  Lord  may  send  me  ?  Moreover, 
it  is  necessary  for  the  kingdom  to  have  fixed  pastors 
over  regular  congregations ;  but  not  all  of  these  pastors 
are  called,  neither  are  all  of  the  flock  of  any  within 
hearing  of  the  voice  they  can  most  easily  follow.  For 
there  is  much  in  temperament,  Cyril,  and  the  magnet- 
ism which  repels  one  attracts  another,  so  that  our 
vitalism  may  act  through  it." 

"  But  the  true  pastor,"  said  Cyril,  "  would  rejoice 
that,  whether  by  him  or  another,  by  Paul  or  Apollos, 
Christ  were  preached  and  the  Church  edified." 

"  After  a  while,"  said  Felix  gently,  "  no  doubt  our 
friend  will  likewise  rejoice  and  be  glad,  when  the  little 
maid  is  well  and  fair  again." 

"  But,"  said  Cyril,  "  you  do  not  see  it  as  I  do,  Gold  ; 
you  never  have  seen  it — the  moral  effect,  I  mean,  of 
this  intolerance,  on  the  men  themselves — the  subjective 
effect,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  You  see,  I've  grown  up  with  it,  but  it  never  struck 
me  so  forcibly  until  now,  partly  because  I  was  myself 
infected  with  the  virus,  and  partly  because  I  had  never 
had  you  before  my  eyes  to  point  the  moral.  One  runs 
across  so  many  parsons  in  these  days — Roman  Catholics, 


224  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Methodists,  Presbyterians,  Episcopalians,  High  and 
Low — very  good,  earnest  fellows,  all  of  them — for  the 
other  kind  have  left  the  city  for  their  wives'  health. 
But  there's  just  this  difference  :  a  Methodist  may  think 
a  Presbyterian  is  wrong  on  certain  theological  points, 
but  he  doesn't  look  upon  him  as  one  of  another  caste ; 
even  a  Presbyterian  or  a  close-communion  Baptist  will 
admit  the  right  of  those  who  belong  to  other  denomi- 
nations to  think  for  themselves.  But  Episcopalians, 
High  or  Low  Church — except  for  a  few  liberal  souls — 
are  distinctly  supercilious  toward  those  who  have  not, 
as  they  think,  the  apostolic  succession." 

"  Whatever  that  may  be,"  said  Felix  Gold. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Cyril ;  "  whatever  that  may  be.  Some 
of  us  will  meet  you  in  ministers'  clubs,  and  so  on — and 
some  of  us  won't — but  if  you  could  hear  the  remarks 
we  make  about  you — not  ill-natured,  you  know,  except 
theologically — you  had  rather  we  shouldn't,  I'm  sure. 
And  it  seems  to  me  that  to  recognize  a  man  as  a 
member  of  one's  own  profession  one  day  and  deny  his 
right  to  practice  the  next — " 

"  You  mean,  to  admit  him  into  a  ministers'  club 
and  keep  him  out  of  your  pulpit  ?  " 

"Yes;  or  to  reverence  him  personally  and  look 
down  upon  him  theologically — don't  you  see  ?  Why  it 
must  beget  a  certain  double-mindedness,  which — " 

"  Destroys  vitalism,"  said  Felix  Gold.  "  It  would, 
Cyril,  if  men  were  logical ;  happily,  they  are  but  theo- 
logical." 


"THE  WING  OF  THE  DESTROYER."  225 

"  Which  lessens  but  does  not  entirely  correct  the 
evil,"  said  Cyril ;  "  an  evil,  Gold,  which  if  not  plucked 
up  by  the  roots  out  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  will 
grow  into  the  upas  tree  that  shall  destroy  her." 

"  If — but  why  should  I  say  if  ?  At  the  Lord's  bid- 
ding you  will  do  this  thing,  my  friend,"  cried  Felix 
Gold. 

"  Not  I.  I  am  no  Samson  to  bear  away  these  gates 
of  Philistinism  on  my  shoulders." 

"  The  Samson  will  come,"  said  Felix.  "  Ah !  the 
noble  deed  !  It  were  worth  living  for ! " 

"  Worth  dying  for  ! "  said  Cyril  Deane. 


15 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NOT  THAT  !    ANYTHING   BUT   LOVE  ! 

AMONG  the  earliest  victims  of  the  scourge  which 
had  been  laid  upon  the  city— earlier  than  even  the 
coldest-hearted  and  most  selfish  of  the  rich  had  fled 
from  its  limits — was  old  Nastasia,  who,  nevertheless, 
died  free  from  contagion.  It  was  scarcely  terror  that 
took  away  her  life,  though  one  of  the  facts  which  have 
been  patent  to  us,  lo !  these  many  years,  is,  that  terror 
can  and  will  produce  disease,  even  as  fearlessness  is  the 
best  preventive.  Not,  as  yet,  an  absolute  preventive; 
for  it  is  not  the  courage  of  one,  it  is  not  the  faith  of 
one,  that  shall  conquer  disease  and  death,  but  the  cour- 
age and  the  faith  of  all. 

But  when  Nastasia  heard  the  tidings  that  small-pox 
had  become  an  epidemic,  "  Den  dar  is  Nastasia's  sum- 
mons," she  said.  "  Mighty  ugly  face  he  got,  too ;  but 
he's  de  messenger  of  de  Lawd." 

She  crept  feebly  to  Meta's  room,  for  all  the  while 
her  strength  had  been  failing  more  rapidly  than  any 
about  her  had  leisure  to  observe.  "  Honey,"  she  said, 
"  honey ! "  and  then  she  sank  upon  the  rug  at  her  nurs- 


NOT  THAT!    ANYTHING  BUT  LOVE!          227 

ling's  feet,  and  laid  her  head  against  the  soft  folds  of 
Meta's  dress. 

"Are  you  ill,  Nastasia?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a 
slight  frown ;  for  Meta  was  very  difficile  in  those  days. 
Health  was  returning,  but  with  an  ebb  and  flow  which 
made  the  bad  days  doubly  trying  by  the  remembrance 
of  the  good;  and  Meta  neither  understood  nor  could 
control  her  varying  moods. 

"  My  lamb,  ole  Nastasia  ain't  long  for  dishyer  worl'. 
I'se  struck  wid  death,  honey,  an'  I  come  to  say  good-by 
to  you,  chile,  whilst  I  kin.  For  you'se  not  to  come 
anigh  me,  Miss  Meta — mine  dat,  now,  my  lamb  !  You'se 
not  to  come  anigh  me  ! " 

"  If  you  are  ill,  you  must  go  to  bed  and  send  for  a 
doctor,"  said  Meta,  still  rather  coldly.  "  But,  of  course, 
I  should  nurse  you." 

"  An'  yo'  pretty  face  be  all  marked,  an'  yo'  beauty 
faded  away  like  a  flower !  It's  hard,  my  Lawd,  werry 
hard  !  She's  got  nobody  but  me,  an'  ole  Miss,  she  done 
got  de  whole  f  ambly  of  dem  dat's  undergroun' ;  but  she 
called  me,  ole  Miss  did,  an'  I  mus'  leave  de  lamb — no  ! 
go  to  de  Lamb — no  golden  crowns  for  me — ole  Miss — 
yes,  I'se  a'  comin' — " 

Meta  leaned  forward,  and  took  the  hardened  aged 
hand  in  hers.  It  was  hot  and  dry,  and  the  old  wom- 
an's talk  had  run  into  the  meaningless  babble  of  fever. 
They  got  her  to  her  bed  and  summoned  a  physician, 
but  he  shook  his  head  when  he  saw  her. 

"  She  has  been  drooping  ever  since  her  mistress 


228  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

died,"  he  said.  "  It  is  often  so  with  those  who  have 
lived  together  many  years;  the  tie  between  them  be- 
comes one  that  death  can  not  break.  And  it  is  a 
strange  thing,  too,"  he  went  on,  "  that  this  tie  is  not 
always  one  of  affection — not  even  of  use  or  habit ;  it  is 
just  the  influence  of  one  mind  over  another — hypnotism, 
in  short.*' 

"  I  have  given  up  hypnotism,"  said  Fritz  Hermann, 
to  whom  this  speech  was  addressed.  "  It  is  a  danger- 
ous power;  it  acts  and  it  reacts.  One  may  kill  with 
it,  while  one  knows  it  not.  But  for  Nastasia — why, 
if  the  mistress  had  been  the  survivor  one  could  under^ 
stand  it,  for  the  negress  was  in  her  youth  a  voodoo 
woman." 

"  And  do  you  not  know  that  that  very  temperament 
is  the  most  responsive  and  receptive  ? "  said  the  phy- 
sician. "  You  fancy  it  is  your  will  by  which  the  hyp- 
notized person  acts.  It  is  not;  it  is  his  own.  Your 
will  sways  his,  but  does  not  destroy  it ;  he  can  refuse 
your  suggestion — though  he  rarely  does — even  in  the 
hypnotic  sleep,  if  it  is  very  repugnant  to  his  heart,  con- 
science, or  even  his  self-esteem.  At  least,  so  the  S.  P.  R. 
reports  tell  us ;  I  have  never  met  with  cases  of  that  sort 
of  suggestion  myself.  Oh  !  I  would  not  give  up  hypno- 
tism if  I  were  you.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  study  it 
scientifically,  and  with  the  proper  safeguards." 

"  Vitalism  is  its  own  safeguard,"  said  Hermann 
gloomily.  "  That  one  can  study  scientifically  without 
experimenting  upon  the  heart  of — "  He  turned  and 


NOT  THAT!    ANYTHING  BUT  LOVE!          229 

walked  away,  leaving  the  doctor  to  make  his  exit  un- 
escorted, 

Fritz  Hermann,  indeed,  had  altered  strangely.  He 
had  left  his  comfortable  quarters  at  the  Hermitage,  but 
seemed  to  know  by  instinct  when  anything  went  wrong 
there.  How  he  lived  was  best  known  to  himself,  as  he 
had  but  little  money,  if  any.  It  was  rumored  that  he 
sometimes  gave  massage  treatment,  but  he  steadily  re- 
fused to  employ  his  magnetic  powers  in  any  other  way. 
"  I  do  not  know,"  he  would  say.  "  I  study  now ;  after- 
ward, we  will  see." 

He  was  a  regular  attendant  at  the  mission,  and 
watched  attentively  the  few  cures  there  attempted,  ana- 
lyzing and  discussing  them  afterward  with  Felix  Gold 
and  Cyril. 

"  Truth  is  somewhere,"  he  would  say,  "  and  your 
vitalism  is  true ;  but  I  can  not  believe  as  you  do,  my 
friends — not  quite  yet.  The  man  Christ  Jesus — yes  ; 
the  God  Christ  Jesus — no,  or  not  to  me." 

When  he  thus  abruptly  left  the  physician  Fritz  Her- 
mann went  straight  to  the  room  where  lay  Nantasia, 
with  Meta  Leonard  watching  beside  her.  The  old 
woman  lay  in  a  stupor ;  the  girl's  face  was  pale,  but 
there  was  a  brightness  in  her  eyes,  an  alertness  of  bear- 
ing which  brought  back  to  him  the  Meta  he  had  first 
known.  He  looked  at  her  silently  a  moment,  then  he 
spoke : 

"  Mein  Kind,  I  came  to  bid  you  rest,  and  let  mo 
watch  in  your  stead." 


230  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered,  without  looking  at  him. 
"  It  is  surely  my  place." 

"  So  ?  "  he  said ;  "  and  because  it  is  your  place,  that 
is  the  reason  I  would  fill  it." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  again. 

"  But — "  he  began  ;  and  though  there  was  nothing 
in  his  looks,  tone,  or  attitude  to  arouse  her  fear,  she 
glanced  at  him  with  sudden,  sharp  appeal :  "  Ah,  no, 
Fritz  ! "  she  said. 

"  So  !  Did  I  will  too  strongly  ?  "  he  said.  "  But  you 
need  not  fear  me,  Meta ;  you  are  fenced  against  me  by 
a  power  stronger  than  mine." 

She  looked  again,  but  longer  and  more  steadily  this 
time,  and  perhaps  a  little  of  her  old  affection  and  confi- 
dence came  back,  for  she  pointed  to  the  bed,  saying : 

"  Fritz,  was  she  right  ?    Is  she  ill  with  small-pox  ?  " 

"  She  is  dying  of  imagination — hypnotism — what 
you  will  to  call  it,"  he  said ;  "  but  small-pox,  No ! 
Meta,  you  hate  me ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Fritz  !     I  am  not  so  wicked." 

"  Ah !  one  knows  what  that  means,"  he  said,  with  a 
groan.  "  Mein  Kind,  I  shall  never  see  you  again,  per- 
haps !  You  will  say  a  good-by  to  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  away,  Fritz  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  away,"  he  said. 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  moved  a  step  toward  him, 
and  half  extended  her  hand ;  then  suddenly  withdrew 
it,  turned  away,  and  covered  her  face  with  it  and  its 
fair  and  slender  fellow. 


NOT  THAT!    ANYTHING   BUT  LOVE  I          231 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  I  understand.  Yes, 
yes,  that  explains  itself.  You  fear  me  so  much,  dear 
child  ?  "  The  tremor  in  his  deep  voice,  the  agony  in 
his  eyes — "  Meta  !  "  he  said — 

"  0  Fritz,  forgive  me  !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  not  you 
I  fear,  but  your  power  over  me.  I  think  you  can  not 
help  it  more  than  I.  Do  you  know  that  I  can  always 
tell  the  moment  that  you  enter  the  house  ?  That  any- 
thing you  have  worn — your  hat  or  your  handkerchief — 
makes  me  tremble  and  quiver  as  with  an  electric  shock  ? 
You  do  not  will  it  so,  it  is  not  you,  but  your  dreadful 
power.  I — I  feel  very  kindly  toward  you,  dear  Eritz, 
but  do  not  ask  me  to  touch  your  hand." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  patiently.  "  No,  no,  my  child, 
never  again — never  again.  Yes,"  he  went  on,  after 
another  silence — and  he  turned  away  his  eyes  lest  their 
gaze  also  should  move  her — "  yes,  yes,  I  see,  I  see.  You 
fear  not  me,  but  my  power,  for  we  are  two  ;  Cyril  and 
Ms  power,  they  are  one.  We  separate  sin  and  the  sin- 
ner, not  righteousness  and  the  righteous.  Ja  wohl,  I 
understand  both  this  and  thee,  dear  Meta.  Listen, 
then.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  when  one  has  this  power 
over — well,  well,  but  that  would  puzzle  you.  Only,  a 
man  keeps  this  of  it,  that  he  reads  the  heart  and  the 
mind  even  of  a  pure  maid  like — "  He  paused,  and 
went  on  again,  but  with  many  hesitations,  as  though 
struggling  for  breath — the  cold  drops  stood  on  his  brow. 
"  One  plays  with  edged  tools,  one  does  not  remember 
the  awfulness  of  the  power ;  one  divides — but  no  mat- 


232  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

ter.  Meta,  a  man  has  played  upon  thy  mind  and  soul 
with  clumsy  fingers,  till  both  are  out  of  tune,  and  thou, 
poor  bewildered  child,  canst  not  separate  nor  distin- 
guish one  chord  from  another.  Meta,  when  Cyril's  step 
sends  the  blood  thrilling  through  thy  veins,  when  thou 
feelest  his  coming  at  a  distance,  when  thy  hand  trem- 
bles in  his — " 

"  Fritz ! " 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  hoarsely,  with  a  smile  of  an- 
guish. "  Yes,  yes,  but  it  must  be  said,  my  child.  You 
are  as  a  babe  that  has  been  ill  and  must  learn  again  to 
walk  ;  you  can  not  use  the  will  that  /  have  misused,  or 
read  the  heart  where  my  power  has  divided  the  earthly 
and  the  heavenly.  Meta,  Cyril — yes,  it  must  be  said — 
Cyril  loves  you;  his  power  and  he  are  one.  If  you 
would  reunite  the  being  which  I  have  broken,  yield  to 
him ;  if  you  would  be  free  of  my  power,  give  yourself  up 
to  his" 

He  waited  a  moment  with  his  strong,  white  hands 
clinched  at  his  side,  and  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast ; 
but  there  was  no  word  of  reply.  Meta's  arms  were 
folded  upon  the  table,  her  head  sunk  upon  them. 

"  Farewell ! "  he  said,  but  she  did  not  answer.  A 
smile — nay,  rather  a  distortion  of  bitter  comprehension 
— awoke  in  his  eyes  and  upon  his  lips.  He  passed  his 
cold  hand  across  his  brow,  and,  without  word,  look,  or 
touch — with  a  last  supreme  effort  of  self-renunciation — 
he  passed  from  the  room,  and  out  of  her  life  forever. 

Then   Meta  lifted  herself  and  looked  around  her 


NOT  THAT!    ANYTHING  BUT  LOVE!          233 

stealthily — vacantly;  she  rose  and  stole  to  the  bedside 
where  Nastasia  lay. 

"  Did  you  hear  him  ? "  she  said ;  but  the  negress's 
stupor  was  not  to  be  broken  by  that  low  whisper, 
nor  Meta's  thralldom  by  the  words  of  Fritz  Hermann. 
"  Did  you  hear  him,  Nastasia  ?  Do  you  hear,  now,  how 
all  the  room  is  full  of  it?  Cyril  loves  me — loves — 
oh,  what  is  love  ?  Not  that,  not  love !  anything  but 
that !  Nastasia,  if  you  are  dead,  and  with  God — if 
there  be  a  God — tell  him — tell  him — "  But  her  voice 
shrilled  into  an  inarticulate  cry,  and  with  her  pale, 
beautiful  face  and  white  slender  palms  uplifted  to  the 
heavens  she  fell  back  unconscious  upon  the  floor. 


BOOK  III. 

THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  BODY,  AND   THE 
LIFE  EVERLASTING. 

CHAPTER   I. 

"  ASLEEP   IN   JESUS." 

A  SHADOWY  existence,  a  semi-conscious  being,  such 
as  the  Greeks — deriving  it,  perhaps,  from  the  memory  of 
just  such  approaches  to  that  country — ascribed  to  the 
dwellers  in  the  under-world — this  was  Meta  Leonard's 
portion  of  life  for  several  weeks.  Pale  forms  flitted 
across  the  mirror  of  her  brain,  some  strange,  others  but 
too  well  known.  Were  they  shadow,  or  substance  ? 
Meta  did  not  even  ask.  It  was  early  in  April  when  at  last 
she  attained  to  a  steadier  vision,  a  surer  consciousness 
of  the  figure  that  for  so  long  had  hovered  round  her 
like  an  angel  ministrant ;  a  squarely  built  form,  which 
would  have  been  clumsy  but  for  the  delicate,  exquisite 
tenderness  that  informed  every  movement.  The  face 
was  homely,  and  but  for  the  soul  within  would  have 
been  commonplace ;  but  a  smile  of  divine  sweetness 
transfigured  it  into  beauty,  as  she  perceived  a  clearer 
light  of  conscious  intelligence  in  her  patient's  eyes. 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  235 

The  smile  was  enough.  There  was  love  in  it,  and 
love  is  reality.  Satisfied  that  she  was  once  more  a  part 
of  the  world  of  sense  and  substance — the  most  real 
world  as  yet  open  to  her  knowledge — Meta  swallowed 
the  strengthening  food  that  was  held  to  her  lips, 
smiled  feebly  at  her  nurse,  turned  over  upon  her  pil- 
low, though  not  without  assistance,  and  was  instantly 
asleep. 

When  she  again  wakened  the  same  form  was  beside 
her,  but  this  time,  after  her  draught  of  hot  milk,  she 
lay  for  a  moment  or  so  with  open  eyes,  wondering. 

"  Who  are  you  ?."  she  asked  at  length.  Her  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  far  away,  and  she  was  forced  to 
try  more  than  once  ere  she  could  bring  it  at  all  under 
control. 

"  I  am  the  wife  of  Felix  Gold — his  Miranda,  he  calls 
me,  but  you  may  call  me  Sophie." 

"  And  have  you  nursed  me  all  this  while  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  a  long  while,  dear  friend,  except  for 
your  sake." 

Meta  did  not  speak  again  for  some  moments;  but 
her  nurse  saw  a  frown  of  perplexity  gathering  on  the 
pale  forehead,  where  the  slender  arches  of  the  brows 
seemed  darker  than  ever  by  contrast.  She  passed  her 
large,  tender  hand  caressingly  over  the  furrows. 

"Do  not  try  to  think  or  remember,"  she  said.  "  Is  it 
not  that  the  dear  Jesus  does  both  for  us?  Leave  it 
with  him." 

"  But  Nastasia  ?  "  said  Meta  feebly.    "  Did  I  dream 


236  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

that  I  saw  her  dead  ?     I   have    dreamed    so    many 
things." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  sweet,  pathetic  voice.  "  Yes, 
yes,  dear  friend,  Nastasia  has  gone  home.  She  did  not 
suffer;  and  if,  when  she  came  to  herself  in  the  dear 
heaven,  she  knew  how  you  needed  her,  she  knew  also 
that  I  was  here  to  care  for  you." 

"But  Hugh?"  said  Meta.  "Who  took  care  of 
Hugh  ?  And  oh,  he  needed  such  care !  even  your 
husband  said  so." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Sophie,  "such  care!  And  so  the 
blessed  Jesus  himself  took  care  of  him." 

"  And  he  is  well  ?    When  can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  indeed,  dear  friend,  and  very  happy ;  and 
you  will  surely  see  him.  But  when,  I  do  not  know." 

"  Why,  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Hugh  is  asleep  in  Jesus,"  said  the  calm,  sweet  voice. 

It  was  told  so  lovingly,  so  as  a  happy  matter  of 
course,  that  Meta,  in  her  feebleness,  scarcely  felt  the 
blow.  Had  the  news  been  delayed  until  the  returning 
tide  of  life  had  risen  higher  in  her  veins,  the  flesh 
would  have  cried  out  against  the  separation,  possibly 
to  its  own  destruction ;  or  had  Sophie  Gold  evaded  her 
question  for  the  moment — for  one  can  not  fancy  a  lie 
from  such  a  woman — had  she  left  her  to  fret,  to  won- 
der, and  puzzle,  and  compare  this  with  that,  until  the 
sharp  truth,  as  she  fought  her  way  to  it,  tore  open  its 
way  to  her  mind,  then  how  ragged  an  edge  to  the 
wound  !  and  how  difficult  of  healing ! 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  237 

But  though  she  understood  them,  Sophie's  words 
rang  softly  and  soothingly ;  she  did  not  realize  them, 
perhaps,  or,  more  truly,  she  did  rerJize  them  more 
entirely  than  would  have  been  possible  in  fuller  health. 
They  sank  into  her  mind  while  yet  it  was  incapable  of 
resistance,  which  alone  gives  pain ;  and  the  new  return- 
ing life  was  left  to  form  itself — to  grow  and  develop 
along  its  new  framework. 

"  Asleep  in  Jesus ! " 

Meta  was  weary  with  even  the  few  words  she  had 
uttered,  too  weary  to  ask  herself :  Who  is  this  Jesus  ? 
whether  a  medium,  influenced,  possessed,  by  a  peculiar- 
ly exalted  class  of  spirits,  an  adept  who  had  per- 
formed the  twelve  labors  (or  perhaps  only  eleven  of 
them),  or  merely  the  impersonation  in  her  own  mind 
of  ideal  perfection,  "  Asleep  in  Jesus ! "  The  words 
brought  a  smile  to  her  lips,  in  their  sweet,  strange 
familiarity. 

"Sing  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "It  has  been  so  long 
since  I  have  heard  it,  not  since  my  mother's  funeral." 
And  as  Sophie  sang  she  fell  asleep — also  in  Jesus,  but 
to  a  speedier  awakening  on  earth — with  a  tender  smile 
upon  her  lips  and  a  murmur  of  "  Dear  little  Hugh !" 

But  the  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders  when  he 
heard  she  had  been  told. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  over,"  he  said  ;  "  and  since  she  took 
it  so  calmly  it  will  probably  not  do  her  any  harm.  But 
it  is  more  than  I  should  have  dared  to  do  myself,  Mrs. 
Gold." 


238  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  But  she  asked  the  question  ! "  said  Sophie  won- 
deringly. 

"  Asked  the —  Bless  my  soul,  madam,  if  you  give  a 
true  answer  to  every  question  a  sick  person —  But  that 
I  suppose,  is  faith  cure  !  Better  let  a  man  die  than 
save  him  by  a  fib,  eh  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  fib,"  said  Felix,  to 
whom  his  wife  had  looked  for  aid ;  "  and  more  have  been 
slain  by  lies  than  by  the  truth,  I  think.  But  whether 
we  live  or  die  matters  little.  What  matters  much  is 
this :  that  a  rational  soul,  the  moment  it  has  power  to 
formulate  a  question,  has  a  right  to  the  answer." 

"  Sick  or  well,  eh  ?  " 

The  young  evangelist  bowed  gravely. 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  would  give  him  poison  to  drink, 
or  a  razor  to  cut  his  throat,  if  he  asked  for  them." 

" Poison — a  razor — these  are  things"  said  Felix 
Gold.  "  Truth  is  life.  Moreover,  it  is  the  question, 
the  doubt,  the  suspicion,  which  is  the  poison,  and  the 
answer  which  soothes  and  heals,  and  makes  alive." 

"  Well,  we  won't  quarrel  over  it.  All's  well  that 
ends  well ;  and,  happily,  Mrs.  Gold's  tact — " 

"  Tact  ? "  said  Felix,  smiling  at  his  wife,  who  sat 
with  folded  hands,  not  half  understanding  the  argu- 
ment, yet  confident  that  he  was  making  it  all  quite 
right.  "  Tact?  But,  yes,  thou  hast  tact,  my  Miranda — 
the  tact,  the  touch  of  one  whose  heart  is  right  with  God 
and  the  world,  and  who  therefore  speaks  always  the  very 
inmost  truth,  which  can  never  wound  or  slay." 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  239 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  her  as  he  spoke.  She  came 
to  his  side,  and  as  he  drew  her  close,  laid  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  looked  into  his  face  with  eyes  of  un- 
questioning love  and  confidence. 

The  doctor  hastily  left  the  room. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  drove  off, 
"  love,  medicine,  and  religion  are  things  that  no  fellow 
can  find  out.  I've  seen  enough  in  all  three  directions 
in  the  last  fortnight  to  play  the  mischief  with  all  my 
theories,  and  that's  a  fact.  But  so  long  as  my  patients 
recover,  and  other  folks  are  good  and  happy,  what's  the 
odds?— G'lang  there!" 

As  Felix  Gold  had  said,  it  is  the  question,  the  doubt, 
the  suspense,  that  is  the  poison  to  the  mind. 

Meta's  strength  came  back  to  her  slowly ;  her  tired 
brain,  tortured  heart,  and  shattered  nerves,  surely  but 
very  slowly,  in  the  still,  peaceful  atmosphere  that  now 
pervaded  the  Hermitage,  returned  to  health  and — ah, 
not  yet  to  happiness ! 

As  the  outer  world  once  more  became  palpable  to 
her,  the  tender  shoots  of  her  freshly  budding  soul  felt 
dimly  for  support.  This  Meta  supposed  could  only  be 
found  in  facts,  in  things  that  had  happened.  Her  heart 
was  weary  and  homeless.  "  It  is  because  I  have  missed 
a  piece  out  of  my  life  in  all  these  weeks,"  she  said ;  and 
therefore  she  asked  many  questions,  and  often  brooded 
gloomily  over  the  answers. 

Francis  Mertou  was  still  in  the  house.     He  had 


240  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

walked  through  the  plague-stricken  city  calmly  and  un- 
touched by  disease  as  Felix  Gold  himself ;  he  had  given 
freely  of  time,  strength,  and  money  to  aid  the  sufferers ; 
and  there  were  very  many  who  worshiped  his  name  as 
though  it  had  been  a  saint's,  and  who  said  of  the  doc- 
trine he  held,  "  There  must  be  truth  in  it  to  have  made 
him  what  he  is ! " 

One  soft,  mild  morning  in  April  he  came,  with  his 
noiseless  step,  sweet,  calm  face,  and  gentle  presence,  into 
Meta's  room.  The  girl's  bodily  strength  had  so  far  re- 
turned as  to  be  a  torment  to  her ;  every  nerve  quivered 
with  morbid  energy.  She  paced  the  floor  with  feeble 
steps  and  tottering  limbs,  from  utter  inability  to  keep 
still ;  then  sank  exhausted  upon  her  couch,  only  to  spring 
up  again  after  a  few  moments  not  of  rest,  but  of  pros- 
tration. 

"  Asleep  in  Jesus ! " 

Ay,  it  had  been  a  solace,  a  support,  in  her  weakness 
of  body  and  confusion  of  brain.  What  was  it  now — a 
mere  meaningless  term,  a  figure  of  speech,  or  a  divine 
truth  ?  For  "  them  that  sleep  in  Jesus  will  Christ 
bring  with  him."  Them  that  sleep  !  Her  grandmother 
— Meta  had  been  so  under  the  dominion  of  a  false  power 
while  her  grandmother  lived,  that  hex  existence  now  was 
scarcely  more  shadowy  and  unreal  than  then. 

Nastasia  ? 

Yes,  the  girl  missed  the  old  woman's  loving  service. 
Even  now  Nastasia  would  have  known  how  she  suffered ; 
she  would  have  found  some  solace,  some  employment, 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS/'  241 

some  answer.  Yes,  Nastasia  alone  had  read  the  heart  of 
her  nursling;  she  would  have  answered  the  question 
which  Meta  dared  not  ask. 

But  Hugh !  Ah,  if  Hugh  had  lived,  would  Meta  have 
lacked  employment,  amusement,  love  ?  She  numbered 
up  the  months  of  his  short  life  that  had  been  lost  to  her 
through  the  fatal  influence  of  Fritz  Hermann.  How 
much  she  might  have  done  for  him  but  for  that  enthrall- 
ment !  How  she  might  have  watched  and  nursed  him, 
walked  with  and  taught  him,  and  gently  wiled  him  for- 
ward to  a  strong  and  vigorous  manhood. 

"  For  I  could  have  healed  him  better  than  Felix 
Gold,"  said  Meta  bitterly,  not  knowing  that  Felix  had 
but  planted  the  seed  of  health,  which  only  the  hand  of 
abiding  love  could  water.  But  she  had  been  wrapped  in 
her  baleful  dream,  and  Hugh  had  perished.  Not  that 
Fritz  had  so  intended.  Even  in  her  angry  sorrow  Meta 
did  him  justice  there ;  so  close,  indeed,  had  been  their 
union  of  mind  that  she  could  not  easily  misunderstand 
him.  But  he  had  put  to  sleep  Tier  will,  her  conscience, 
her  affections,  so  that  she  lived  his  life,  was  ruled  by  his 
sense  of  right,  loved,  hated,  thought  as  he  did ;  and 
there  was  not  in  his  heart  the  loving,  watchful  care, 
half-motherly,  half-sisterly,  which  slumbered  in  the 
heart  of  the  girl. 

How  should  there  be  ?  Had  the  providence  of  God 
given  Hugh  into  his  keeping?  The  man  had  not 
planned  to  separate  the  brother  and  sister  ;  he  had  left 

the  girl  at  such  liberty  as  he  considered  proper,  consist- 
16 


242  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

ently  with  her  vocation  and  training  as  a  sensitive.  He 
had  believed  the  boy's  welfare  secured  by  the  care  of  old 
Nastasia — in  a  word,  he  had  put  his  will  for  God's  will, 
his  life  instead  of  Meta's  life,  his  individuality  for 
hers. 

And  as,  when  a  great  tree  is  cut  down  in  the  forest, 
the  smaller  trees,  dwarfed  in  its  shadow,  can  not  at  once 
shoot  upward  and  outward  to  their  full  proportions, 
so,  when  his  influence  was  removed,  the  individuality  of 
his  victim  for  a  while  lay  paralyzed.  To  herself  she 
had  seemed  to  hang,  like  Mahomet's  coffin,  between  his 
power  and  that  of  another — a  power  so  fatally  similar, 
despite  its  differences,  that  even  though  her  heart  cried 
out  for  it,  she  turned  from  it,  struggled  against  it,  put 
it  from  her,  with  dread  and  horror.  Then  he,  Fritz 
himself,  had  bidden  her  yield  to  it ;  but  the  command 
had  but  added  to  the  confusion  of  her  soul,  since  in  his 
soul  the  two  wills  struggled  for  empire.  He  had  willed 
to  will  it  so ;  and  the  struggle  which  had  brought  the 
drops  of  agony  to  the  forehead  of  the  strong  man,  had, 
without  his  consciousness,  been  impressed  upon  the  in- 
nocent soul  of  the  girl  whose  mind  for  so  long  had  been 
his  laboratory,  his  lens  into  the  spirit-world,  as  he  had 
believed,  but  in  reality  only  the  mirror  of  his  own. 

Now  the  pangs  of  returning  life  were  stinging  her 
individual  soul  into  vivid  consciousness. 

As  Francis  Merton  tapped  softly  at  her  door  with 
fingers  that  she  knew,  she  paused  abruptly  in  her  rest- 
less pacing,  and  greeted  his  entrance  with  a  smile  of 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  243 

relief.  "  Ah,  you  are  very  welcome,"  she  said ;  "  you 
see  how  nervous  I  am ;  I  can  not  sit  still." 

"  The  magnetic  currents  of  your  nature  are  all 
astray  and  out  of  order,"  said  Francis  Merton,  with  his 
quiet  smile ;  "  and  not  altogether  by  your  own  doing ; 
but  by  the  gradual  exercise  of  your  will  they  may  be 
brought  into  harmony." 

"  My  will !    I  have  no  will." 

«  Try ;  you  will  find  that  you  are  wrong,"  he  said 
gently. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said  petulantly ;  "  I  will  to 
be  well  and  strong  this  moment.  Now,  then  ! " 

"  If  you  could  really  will  it,  you  would  be  well  and 
strong,"  he  replied,  "  but  such  results  can  not  come  all 
at  once.  Begin  by  willing  to  sit  still  and  talk  to  me 
like  a  rational  being.  Now  ! " 

"But  I  am  not  rational,  Mr.  Merton.  I  am  half 
mad,  with  thinking  of  my  brother,  my  little  Hugh, 
whom  his  dying  mother  gave  me  to  care  for,  to 
love—" 

"  There,  there  !  you  should  not  allow  yourself  to  be 
so  shaken  and  distressed.  You  did  not  willfully  neglect 
him.  You  were  unconscious,  helpless,  when  he  became 
ill." 

"  Tell  me  again.     It  was  diphtheria  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  felt  sure,  from  the  first,  that  our  friend 
Gold  had  wrought  only  a  temporary  cure.  Hugh's 
Karma  puzzles  me  ;  but  in  some  previous  existence — " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Merton,  what  do  I  care  for  previous  ex- 


24:4:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

istence  ?  Tell  me  again —  He  would  not  complain — 
dear  little  boy ! — because  of  the  trouble — " 

"  There,  there,  dear  child  !  don't  sob  so.  Why  will 
you  go  over  and  over  these  things  which  so  distress 
you  ?  " 

"  Tell  it  me,"  she  said,  amid  her  tears. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  patiently,  "if  you  will  have 
it ;  but  it  would  be  better  for  you,  Meta,  to  set  your  true 
will  against  this  foolish  indulgence  in  useless  grief." 

"  Ah,  there  she  is !  "  cried  the  girl,  springing  toward 
the  door,  on  which  at  the  moment  another  tap  sounded ; 
and  as  it  opened,  she  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of 
Sophie  Gold. 

"  There,  thou  dear  child,  sob  not  so  bitterly,"  she 
said  soothingly. 

Francis  Merton  did  not  interfere;  no  one  could 
have  judged  of  his  thoughts  from  his  face,  as  he  listened 
gravely. 

"  You  will  tell  me,  Sophie ;  you  know  how  I  long 
to  hear  even  his  name — my  little  Hugh  ! " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  know,  dear  Meta.  And  how  he  loved 
you,  the  dear  child  !  '  Tell  her  not  I  am  ill,'  he  said, 
even  in  his  fever;  'igo  to  her;  nurse  Meta.  I  shall  do 
very  well,'  he  said  to  me." 

"  And  you — oh,  you  did  not,  you  did  not,  could  not 
leave  him  to  die  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  no,  no,"  said  Sophie ;  "  I  was  with  him 
to  the  last — his  last  on  earth.  But  no  nursing  could 
have  saved  him ;  there  was  no  hope  from  the  first." 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  34.5 

"  And  you,"  cried  Meta,  turning  almost  fiercely 
upon  Felix,  "  you,  who  boast  of  your  power — " 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  smiling  tenderly  "  but  see, 
dear  sister,  it  is  not  my  power.  Am  I  God?  The 
child — one  knows  not  how  the  disease  came  to  him — 
but  he  would  not  complain ;  he  went  apart  into  a  dark 
room,  lest  one  should  see  his  flushed  cheek  and  heavy 
eyes ;  then  he  went  alone  to  his  bed.  In  the  morn- 
ing-" 

"  All  night ! — he  suffered  all  night,  and  alone  ! " 

"  Not  alone,"  said  Felix  Gold ;  "  for  One  was  with 
him  who  knows  all  suffering  and  all  loneliness.  In  the 
morning  he  was  delirious ;  but,  as  my  dear  wife  says, 
his  only  thought  and  murmur  were  for  you,  that  you 
might  be  cared  for." 

"  I — I — for  me,  who  had  so  neglected  him !  " 

Then  Francis  Merton  interposed.  "Not  willfully, 
dear  child ;  do  not  distress  yourself ;  you  will  be  ill 
again." 

"  Oh,  if  I  might  die  ! "  she  cried.  Then—"  No,  no  ! 
not  death,  unless  it  will  bring  me  to  Hugh."  There 
was  another  name  upon  her  lips,  but  she  did  not  speak 
it.  No  one  had  breathed  it  in  her  hearing,  and  she 
dared  not  ask.  Ah,  if  he  dwelt  in  the  dim  under- 
world. "  I  killed  him  !  "  she  cried ;  "  I  killed  him  !  Not 
a  month,  two  months,  ago — I  know  nothing  of  time 
now — but  when  I  forsook  him,  when  I  gave  myself  up 
to  the  power  of  Fritz  Hermann,  I  killed  my  little 
Hugh.  It  all  goes  back  to  that!  I  see  it  all  now! 


246  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Should  I  have  been  ill  else  ?  And  if  I  had  been  well, 
strong  as  in  the  days  when —  You  dare  not  tell  me  I  am 
wrong ! "  she  cried,  turning  again  upon  Felix ;  then, 
with  a  quick  transition,  she  clasped  her  white  hands  in 
wild  entreaty.  "  Tell  me — for  God's  sake,  tell  me  that 
I  did  not  kill  him ! " 

Felix  Gold's  eyes  looked  steadfastly,  sweetly,  into 
hers.  "  My  poor  child,  Christ  died  for  you ;  may 
not  Hugh  also  ?  "  he  said. 

She  gave  a  low  moan,  and  threw  herself  face  down- 
ward on  her  couch. 

"  Fool ! "  said  Francis  Merton,  with  the  only  sem- 
blance of  impatience  they  had  ever  seen  in  him ; 
"  what  help  is  your  Christian  mythology  to  her  now  ? 
Listen  to  me,  Meta.  All  that  you  have  said  may  be 
true,  yet  there  is  no  need  to  grieve  over  it  unless  you 
had  willfully  neglected  or  ill-treated  Hugh,  and  so  had 
stored  up  bad  Karma  for  yourself,  to  be  worked  out  in 
your  next  incarnation." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  myself  ?  It  is  Hugh,"  she 
moaned  drearily,  "  Hugh,  that  I  think  of — his  suffer- 
ings. If  only  I  could  have  borne  them  for  him !  " 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  said  Francis  Merton ;  "  it  was 
all  the  effect  of  Karma — his,  not  yours.  It  could  not 
possibly  have  been  otherwise ;  and  some  day,  or  in  some 
ason — for  it  may  be  cycles  hence — when  in  some  future 
incarnation  you  attain  to  adeptship,  and  past  and  future 
are  both  open  to  you,  you  will  see  how  futile  it  is  to 
agitate  one's  self  over  the  sorrows  of  a  single  earth-life, 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  247 

since  every  event  has  its  antecedent  in  some  preceding 
incarnation,  and  its  consequent — " 

"  Oh,  have  mercy  on  me ! "  she  cried.  "  Is  all  only 
one  great  machine  ?  And  Hugh,  where  is  he  in  these 
endless  incarnations?  Shall  I  never,  never  see  him 
again  ?  " 

But  it  was  not  only  Hugh  for  whose  sake  she 
longed  to  know  of  the  spirit-world. 

She  started  up  with  her  hands  pressed  to  her  tem- 
ples. *'  Was  there  any  truth  in  it  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Can 
they  come  back  to  us,  and  materialize  before  our 
eyes?" 

Felix  Gold  sat  silent  and  motionless.  By  a  look 
he  had  called  his  wife  to  his  side.  "  Let  her  hear 
him,"  he  murmured;  "only  do  thou  pray  for  her, 
beloved."  And  Sophie  obediently  folded  her  hands 
and  lifted  up  her  heart  in  prayer. 

"  Truth  ?  You  know  there  was  none,"  said  Francis 
Merton.  "  They  were  but  shells  with  which  you  had 
to  do  in  those  days ;  shells — that  is,  the  fourth  principle 
or  animal  soul,  and  a  portion  of  the  fifth  principle  or 
human  soul.  These  were  drawn  into  your  magnetic 
current  by  your  will,  and  borrowed  from  you  the  intelli- 
gence and  consciousness  which  they  did  not  possess. 
The  purer  portion  of  the  fifth  principle  clings  to  the 
spiritual  soul,  or  Buddhi,  and  they  pass  together  into 
Devachan,  the  abode  of  happiness." 

"  And  there  I  shall  see  Hugh  ?  He  is  there  now  ?  " 
But  it  was  not  only  Hugh  that  she  meant. 


248  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  There  you  will  find  all,  or  any  one  who  is  ne- 
cessary to  your  happiness,"  said  Francis  Merton. 

"  But — ah,  I  remember  !  You  read  to  me — no,  I 
myself  read  it — they  whom  we  love  are  not  really  pres- 
ent with  us ;  it  is  their  image,  their  idea — " 

"  Keally  present  ?  But  what  is  reality  ?  "  said  Francis 
Merton.  "  They  are  present  to  our  thought,  to  our 
belief,  to  our  consciousness ;  we  have  but  to  think  of 
them  and  they  are  present  with  us.  It  is  a  better 
heaven  than  the  Christian's,  for  in  it  none  need  mourn 
for  lost  souls  shut  out ;  the  mother  there  has  her 
prodigal  son,  though  the  ego  of  that  son  may  be  else- 
where ;  every  lover  has  his  beloved,  even  though,  as  in 
the  parable,  seven  have  loved  the  one — " 

"  But  not  himself — not  himself,"  cried  Meta.  "  And 
can  an  idea,  a  subjective  presence,  love  me  back 
again  ?  " 

"You  will  find  no  difference,"  he  said,  with  his 
calm  smile. 

"  No  difference  ?  But  I  want  more  !  I  want  truth, 
I  want  reality,  I  want  himself — himself — of  course  I 
mean  Hugh,"  she  murmured. 

Francis  Merton  did  not  answer,  and  Sophie  Gold 
softly  crossed  the  room  to  Meta's  side  and  drew  the 
girl  into  her  kind  arms.  "  I  know,"  she  whispered ; 
"  did  not  my  baby  die  ?  But  Christ  will  give  him  back 
to  me — no  image,  but  himself.  He  is  with  Jesus." 

"It  is  individuality — personality — that  the  dear 
child  wants,"  said  Felix  Gold's  voice.  Meta's  face  was 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  249 

hidden  upon  the  shoulder  of  Sophie,  who  at  his  next 
words  felt  the  heart  against  her  own  give  one  full,  sud- 
den throb,  and  then  nutter  quiveringly  like  a  frightened 
bird. 

"  We  need  the  scholarship  of  our  friend  Cyril  to 
tell  us  just  what  that  means ;  for,  though  I  have  learned 
much  from  him,  I  can  not  take  his  place.  But  I  know 
what  it  is  to  be  a  person,  and  it  is  persons  only,  not 
ideas  or  images,  that  one  may  love." 

"  To  the  Buddhi,  and  the  part  of  the  Manas  which 
is  left,  the  idea  is  as  real  as  the  personality — whatever 
that  may  be,"  said  Merton. 

"  Can  the  idea  act  independently  of  your  will  ? " 
asked  Felix  Gold.  "  Can  it  love  you  back  again,  even 
as  the  dear  child  says  ?  And  if  not,  can  you  love  that 
which  gives  nothing  in  return  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Francis  Merton. 

"Why  not?  Because  matter  and  mind  are — even 
as  I  have  read  in  your  books — mere  manifestations  of 
one  and  the  same  eternal  force,  which  is  spirit.  Be- 
cause therefore  the  three  realms  of  spirit,  mind,  and 
matter  are,  and  must  be,  governed  by  cognate  laws; 
and  as,  in  the  starry  heavens,  each  star  returns  in  its 
proportion  the  influence  it  receives,  and  that  it  gives 
is  proof  that  it  does  receive,  so  to  love  is  proof  that  we 
love  a  sentient  being  capable  of  loving  in  return." 

"  Your  analogy  halts,"  said  Francis  Merton ;  "  it 
should  be, '  To  love  is  proof  that  we  are  loved.'  " 

"  And  so  would  it  be  but  for  sin,"  was  the  reply. 


250  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  But  over  God  sin  has  no  power.  There  is  the  central 
Sun  of  our  universe ;  to  be  drawn  to  him  proves  his 
self-conscious  being.  '  We  love  him  because  he  first 
loved  us.'  " 

Sophie  Gold  lifted  her  face,  which  had  been  bent 
above  the  face  upon  her  shoulder.  "  Will  you  leave  the 
dear  child  to  me  ?  "  she  asked. — "  Meta,"  she  said — when 
they  were  alone,  "  for  me,  I  can  not  understand  this 
talk  of  individualities ;  but  I  know  that  Jesus  loves 
me  and  thee  and  Hugh,  and  that  the  boy  is  safe  in  his 
bosom." 

"  But  I  killed  him,"  murmured  Meta  faintly. 

"  You  let  Fritz  Hermann  mesmerize  you — that  was 
wrong,"  said  Sophie,  firmly  ;  "  and  from  that  all  came. 
So  you  have  said,  and  it  is  true.  If  you  had  ruled  your- 
self and  your  own  will  all  the  while,  the  boy  might 
still  be  alive  on  earth.  But,  Meta,  he  is  not  dead ;  you 
have  not  killed  him  ;  he  is  alive  still,  only  with  Christ, 
which  is  far  better.  Yes,  yes,  and  it  was  Christ  who 
let  it  happen,  who  lets  all  happen — all  the  sin  and 
misery ;  so  must  he  mean  to  set  all  right  some  day.  I 
do  not  understand  always  my  Felix,  but  I  trust  him 
even  when  he  talks  of  individualities,"  said  Sophie, 
smiling ;  "  and  just  so  I  trust  Jesus.  It  is  all  in  his 
hands,  Meta.  Leave  it  there." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  Meta.  "  I  do,  Sophie ;  it  is  such 
rest ! "  But  she  did  not  lift  her  head,  and  Sophie  held 
her  closer.  Something  more  was  to  be  said,  and  both 
women  knew  it. 


"ASLEEP  IN  JESUS."  251 

"  Sophie,"  it  was  the  merest  whisper. 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Where  is— is  he  ?  " 

"  Dear  child,  our  Cyril  stood  by  your  bedside  when 
you  lay  in  the  fever,  while  I  was  with  Hugh.  Day  and 
night  had  he  watched,  but  he  would  not  leave  you. 
Then  there  came  a  night  when  it  seemed  that  you  must 
die ;  but  Cyril  knelt  beside  you  with  your  hands  in  his, 
and  his  eyes  upon  your  face,  as  though  he  could  not 
let  you  go.  When  your  sleep  became  soft  and  peaceful, 
and  the  drops  stood  upon  your  brow,  he  stood  again 
on  his  feet — ah  !  so  tired,  Meta — so  tired — and  whis- 
pered me ;  '  You  will  not  tell  her,  Sophie,  until  she 
names  my  name  ? '  Sol  was  silent,  Meta,  until  your 
heart  spoke  and  your  lips  followed." 

The  girl  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  let  her  friend  lay  her 
tenderly  upon  the  couch.  Her  face  was  very  pale,  and 
the  tears  flowed  over  her  cheeks  from  beneath  the 
closed  eyelids,  but  the  lips  smiled. 

"  Ah,  Cyril  is  very  noble,  very  good,  but  he  is  only 
a  man,  after  all,"  said  Sophie  wisely.  "  They  should 
sometimes  help  us  to  name  them,  us  poor  women  !  for 
the  louder  the  heart  cries  for  their  presence  the  closer 
pressed  together  are  the  poor  trembling  lips."  W'here- 
with  she  stooped  and  kissed  them. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

HEKETICS   AND   INFIDELS. 

"  So  tired  !  "  Yes,  Cyril  had  been  very  tired  when  he 
left  Meta's  bedside ;  weary  with  such  a  weariness  as  he 
had  never  known  before.  There  was  little  for  him  to 
do,  fortunately,  for  the  health  of  the  town  was  improv- 
ing ;  the  several  pestilences  had  been  stamped  out,  as 
the  doctors  expressed  it,  and  there  was  no  more  than 
the  usual  amount  of  sickness. 

Cyril  lay  on  his  lounge  in  the  gray-walled  sitting- 
room  and  watched  the  long  bars  of  colored  light  steal 
higher  and  higher  along  the  walls,  then  vanish  sud- 
denly as  a  dream  when  one  awaketh.  There  was  in 
the  stained  window  a  blood-red  Maltese  cross,  which, 
as  afternoon  began,  crept  across  the  cocoa  matting  at 
his  feet,  and  at  sunset  stood  midway  upon  the  wall 
just  opposite  him.  He  took  great  comfort  in  the  cross, 
for  some  reason  which  I  am  not  able  to  explain;  it 
seemed,  indeed,  the  only  companion  he  needed,  except 
when  Felix  Gold  had  time  to  sit  with  him  half  an  hour 
or  so.  He  was  not  ill,  he  said,  and  certainly  not  at  all 
unhappy,  only  lazy ;  but  the  physician  talked  of  feeble 
pulse,  loss  of  appetite,  and  a  low  state  of  the  system — 


HERETICS  AND   INFIDELS.  253 

"just  the  condition  in  which  to  take  any  disease  and 
die  with  it,"  he  said ;  "  and  very  serious  in  a  person  of 
such  great  vitality,"  he  added. 

"  One  can't  eat  one's  cake  and  have  it,"  said  Cyril, 
smiling ;  "  and  I  have  been  spending  my  vitality  right 
along,  I  suppose.  Bat  Felix  Gold  has  done  more  than 
I  have,  and  look  at  him  !  He  is  as  strong  as  a  horse." 

"  Perhaps  he  didn't  put  his  heart  into  it  in  the 
same  way,"  said  the  doctor,  and  was  surprised  to  see  a 
sudden  vivid  color  flush  up  to  his  patient's  brow.  "  Is 
that  so  ?  "  he  thought,  but,  being  a  wise  man,  said  only : 
"  What  you  want  is  change.  Is  there  anywhere  you 
would  specially  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  am  too  lazy  to  travel,"  said  Cyril,  smiling. 
"  Just  let  me  alone  for  the  present,  doctor ;  I  shall 
leave  when  I  get  ready." 

"Who  is  she?"  asked  the  doctor  of  Felix,  when 
next  he  caught  him  alone. 

Felix  smiled.  "If  I  ought  to  tell  her  name? "he 
said.  "  She  has  been  ill,  and  she  is  here  in  Fairtown — 
so  much  I  may  say.  I  would  let  him  alone,  according 
to  his  words,  good  friend,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Why,  if  he  won't  go,  I  might  as  well,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  She's  out  of  danger,  I  hope — for  that —  Well, 
one  can  not  understand  or  explain  these  things.  What's 
your  theory  about  it  now  ?  Can't  you  set  him  on  his 
feet  again  ?  Else  what  are  your  faith  cure  and  vitalism 
good  for,  hey  ?  " 

"It  is  because  we  know  so  little,"  the  other  said 


254  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

thoughtfully.  "  Were  vitalisis  fully  accomplished  in 
any  one  of  us,  he  indeed  could  heal  all  those  who  willed 
their  own  healing.  But  vitalisis  is  weak,  embryonic, 
rudimentary — what  shall  I  say  ?  It  has  not  yet  trans- 
formed either  soul  or  body  into  the  image  of  itself ;  and 
if  the  strong  will  urge  us  to  expend  overmuch  vitalism, 
body  and  soul  suffer  alike." 

"  Then  you — to  be  sure,  you  have  a  physique  such 
as  one  seldom  sees ;  but  you  have  done  in  the  last  few 
months  what  I  could  not  have  believed  of  ten  men,  and 
you  don't  seem  the  worse  for  it.  Were  you  economical 
of  your  vitalism  ?  Or  is  it,  as  I  said  to  our  friend  there, 
that  you  did  not  put  your  heart  into  it,  as  he  did  ?  " 

"  Friend,"  said  Felix  Gold,  u  vitalisis  begins  in  the 
heart.  We  are  now  speaking  of  deep  things,  well-nigh 
too  deep  for  the  plummet  of  human  speech,  yet  what  I 
may,  what  I  can  tell  you,  that  I  will.  Did  I  grudge 
any  power  that  I  have  to  the  poor,  suffering  ones  ?  Did 
I  keep  back  a  part  of  the  price  for  which  I  have  ex- 
changed soul  and  body  ?  That  were  to  turn  the  power 
against  myself,  and  to  slay  body  and  soul  alike,  as  by 
the  lightning's  flash.  But  I  am  not  alone  in  the 
world ;  Felix  Gold  is  not  one,  but  twofold.  What  of  my 
power — such  as  it  is,  and  whatever  it  be — what  of  it  I 
expended  in  the  world,  came  again  to  me,  purer, 
stronger,  sweeter — in  my  own  home." 

"  Then  your  wife  is  a  healer  also  ?  "  asked  the  doctor, 
not  disrespectfully  ;  he  had  seen  too  many  of  the  man's 
cures  for  that. 


HERETICS  AND  INFIDELS.  255 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  other  calmly,  "  for  then  it  may 
be — I  can  not  tell — that  she —  Ah,  friend,  how  we  stam- 
mer when  we  speak  of  things  like  this  !  How,  whence 
it  comes,  I  can  not  tell  you ;  only  this  I  know,  that  her 
soul  is  anchored  where  mine  is  also  fixed  ;  and  when  I 
look  into  her  eyes,  when  I  touch  her  hands,  her  lips, 
and  kneel  with  her  in  prayer,  sweet  refreshment  flows 
in  upon  all  my  being.  That  it  comes  from  God  is  true, 
but  to  me  it  comes  through  her.  Doctor,  we  may  go  to 
heaven  alone,  but  we  can  never  be  saved  except  as  a 
race." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  doctor.  "  It  isn't 
work  that  kills  men,  it  is  worry  ;  and  love,  conjugal  or 
brotherly,  creates  a  restful  atmosphere  in  which  one's 
vitality  is  restored  as  fast  as  it  is  expended.  I  know 
nothing  about  your  vitalism  ;  vitality  is  my  word." 

"  And  what  is  vitality  ?  "  asked  Felix. 

"  Ah,  there  you  have  me,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Well, 
then,  our  friend  Deane  has  no  one  to  restore  the  loss  of 
vitalism,  hey  ?  But  if  there  is  no  restful  atmosphere  in 
her  case — " 

"  It  is  clouded  by  illness,"  said  the  other.  "  He 
has  double  work  to  do — treble  work— for  himself,  for 
her  soul,  and  her  body.  It  is  done,  but  he  suffers ;  he 
expends  all,  and  receives  nothing ;  by  and  by  she  will 
restore  all  to  him.  See  you  not,  friend,  this  love  is  the 
deepest  and  strongest  on  earth ;  there  is  no  part  of  our 
nature  that  it  leaves  untouched,  and  by  its  strength  to 
save  we  measure  its  power  to  lay  waste  and  desolate." 


256  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

His  mind  remained  full  of  this  thought  all  day,  and 
perhaps  by  unconscious  transference  filled  with  it  the 
minds  of  others,  for,  as  he  sat  silently  with  Cyril  in 
the  late  twilight,  there  entered  to  them  the  Keverend 
Bennet  Lane.  "  So  you  are  feeling  pretty  well,  old 
man?"  he  said  kindly.  "That's  right;  but  what  you 
want  is  to  go  away,  you  know." 

"  Every  one  tries  to  send  me  away,"  said  Cyril. 
"  I  don't  see  why,  I  am  sure.  Do  I  look  uncomfort- 
able?" 

"  Not  at  all,  not  in  the  least ;  but — oh,  well,  it's 
good  for  a  man,  rouses  him,  gives  him  new  subjects  for 
thought—" 

"  I  could  rouse  myself  if  there  were  any  need  of 
it,"  returned  Cyril ;  "  and  as  for  new  subjects  for 
thought—" 

"  That's  it  exactly,"  broke  in  his  friend  eagerly ; 
"  you've  thought  too  much  and  got  morbid.  Sometimes 
to  go  away  from  our  difficulties  enables  us  to  see  them 
more  distinctly — " 

"  Get  a  clearer  focus  on  them,"  said  Cyril.  "  But, 
my  dear  boy,  I've  no  special  difficulties  that  I  know  of 
— I  mean,  in  the  way  of  action.  So  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  feel  as  though  I  had  been  away,  as  though  I 
were  away  now.  But  if  there  were  anything  for  me  to 
do  I  could  probably  get  up  and  do  it ;  only  it  happens 
to  seem  best  for  all  parties  for  me  to  lie  perfectly  still. 
It's  just  as  good  as  going  away,  I  fancy,  for  enabling 
other  people  to  get  a  clear  focus  on  me." 


HERETICS  AND   INFIDELS.  257 

Bennet  Lane  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  at  the  droll 
tone  in  which  this  was  said,  but  it  was  a  smile  half 
sad,  half  superior.  "  My  dear  boy,"  he  began,  then 
glanced  toward  Felix  Gold,  who  had  taken  up  a  book, 
and  effaced  himself  so  far  as  was  possible  to  that  vigor- 
ous personality,  "  I  wonder  if  I  could  have  a  word  with 
you  alone,"  he  said. 

"  Please  don't,"  returned  Cyril  boyishly. — "  No,  don't 
look  for  your  hat,  Felix ;  it  is  very  well  where  it  is.  I 
see  apostolic  succession  in  his  eye,  and  I'd  rather  you'd 
talk  to  him  ;  I'm  not  quite  up  to  argument." 

"  Ah,  if  it  were  only  in  my  eye,  Deane !  The  ques- 
tion is,  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  your  life  ?  Will 
you  let  it  be  spoiled,  blighted,  in  the  very  outset  of  your 
career  ?  " 

"  Is  the  work  he  has  done  this  winter  of  a  blight- 
ing nature  to  one's  life?"  asked  gently  Felix  Gold, 
seeing  that  Cyril  was  really  unequal  to  the  conversation 
which  his  friend  seemed  determined  to  thrust  upon 
him. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  one  thing,  Mr.  Gold,  and  I  of 
another,"  said  the  Reverend  Bennet,  with  some  irrita- 
tion. "  Besides,  a  person  may  do  a  perfectly  right  thing 
in  a  wrong  way — " 

"  May  he  ?    How  ?  "  asked  Cyril. 

"  Well,  as  you  did  this  winter.  You  worked  like  a 
hero — no  doubt  of  that — but  it  was  not  on  Church  lines 
or  in  a  spirit  of  obedience  to  the  Church." 

"  Specify,"  said  Cyril. 
17 


258  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  "Well,  for  example,  there  were  daily  celebrations  in 
several  churches,  mine  among  them,  but,  though  one 
would  think  you  needed  such  spiritual  preparation  for 
the  day's  labors,  I  saw  you  only  once — of  course  you  may 
have  gone  elsewhere — and  then —  Well,  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  rude — " 

"  Then,  he  brought  me  with  him,"  said  Felix  Gold. 
"  It  is  not  rudeness,  Mr.  Lane ;  you  speak  not  as  man, 
but  as  ecclesiastic." 

"  I  did  not  go  elsewhere,"  said  Cyril.  "  Let  us  clear 
that  ground  at  once.  It  was  not  that  I  did  not  wish  it, 
but  we  lived  in  a  sort  of  quarantine,  Gold  and  I,  and  it 
was  hardly  safe.  Your  church  was  in  the  heart  of  the 
infected  district,  and  we  could  not  well  harm  any  one. 
Besides,  if  you  speak  of  heroes,  who  was  more  heroic 
than  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  did  no  more  than  my  duty,"  said  the  Keverend 
Bennet,  dismissing  the  matter  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 
"  May  I  ask — not  as  an  inquisitor  but  a  friend — why 
you  did  not  come  again  ?  " 

"Would  you  have  asked  my  friend?"  said  Cyril 
gently. 

"  I  should  not  have  repelled  him  had  he  chosen  to 
come  on  his  own  responsibility." 

"  The  responsibility  of  eating  and  drinking  to  my 
condemnation  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  The  precise  responsibility  that  rests  on 
every  communicant." 

"  But  you  are  too  sincere,  Mr.  Lane,  to  pretend  that 


HERETICS  AND  INFIDELS.  259 

I,  in  your  eyes,  stand  upon  an  equal  footing  with  other 
believers  in  respect  of  the  sacrament." 

"  You  are  a  good  man,  Mr.  Gold,  but  you  are  not  a 
Churchman." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  that  Christ,  my  Master 
and  yours,  comes  to  me  in  the  holy  supper  as  he  does 
to — to  Churchmen  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Gold.  Who  am  I,  to  limit  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  loving  Lord  ?  " 

Felix  Gold  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  he  sat 
motionless,  with  his  strong  arms  folded  across  his  breast ; 
a  great  light  began  to  dawn  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  his 
firm  lips  parted  in  a  half-smile.  Then,  in  the  same  soft, 
sweet  tone  wherein  he  had  spoken  to  Bennet,  he  said,  as 
if  answering  some  one  unseen  by  the  others : 

"  Even  so,  dear  Lord  Jesus.  Thou  art  not  far  from 
any  one  of  us.  To  put  us  out  from  the  assemblies  of 
men  is  not  to  part  us  from  thee.  Only,  dear  Jesus,  do 
thou  also  remain  with  them,  for  they  were  lonely  indeed 
without  thee ;  and  then,  one  day,  thou  wilt  bring  us  all 
together  again." 

Bennet  Lane  did  not  reply.  He  had  not  come  to 
Cyril  as  a  censor,  but  full  of  concern  at  what  he  had 
heard  that  day  through  a  clergyman,  one  of  the  examin- 
ing chaplains  of  the  bishop  of  the  diocese.  This  person 
had  informed  him  that  his  friend  Cyril  Deane  had  so 
got  his  name  up  for  eccentricities  of  doctrine,  that  if  he 
applied  for  priest's  orders  he  would  certainly  be  refused ; 
and  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to  go  out  to  his 


260  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

mission  station  as  soon  as  possible.  "  It  is  a  great  pity 
he  ever  changed  his  mind  about  that,"  said  the  chap- 
lain ;  "  but  it's  the  sort  of  thing  very  likely  to  happen. 
When  a  young  man  puts  his  hand  to  the  plow  and  looks 
back,  he's  pretty  sure  to  go  down  hill  afterward." 

Sitting  there  in  the  gray-walled  room,  with  the 
blood-red  Maltese  cross  shimmering  on  the  wall,  and 
looking  on  his^  friend's  pure,  transparently  pale  face,  the 
eyes  alight  with  a  sweet,  solemn  smile,  Bennet  Lane 
could  not  feel  that  Cyril  had  gone  down  hill.  And 
there  sat  the  man  against  whom  he  had  felt  a  half -con- 
temptuous irritation,  the  man  of  whom  he  had  thought 
as  a  tempter,  one  who  had  led  Cyril  astray. 

And  the  man  spoke  softly,  lovingly  to  the  Lord  to 
whom  Bennet  also  had  consecrated  his  life,  whom  be- 
neath all  the  rubbish  of  his  ecclesiasticism  he  loved  with 
all  his  heart.  Ay,  he  sat  there,  this  schismatic,  and, 
with  the  confidence  of  one  talking  with  a  familiar 
friend,  interceded  with  the  Lord  to  remain  with  his 
Church,  his  peculiar  people,  set  apart  from  the  great 
body  of  sectarians,  hedged  about  with  sacraments  and 
ordinances — yet  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  doubt  the 
presence  of  the  Lord  ;  the  real  faith  in  him  felt  the  real 
faith  of  the  others  with  a  certainty  that  can  not  be  dis- 
puted. For  Cyril's  eyes  also  shone  with  the  light  of 
that  presence ;  but  Bennet  Lane,  priest  and  Churchman, 
knew  it  only  from  them,  as  one  now  blind,  but  once  a 
seeing  man,  knows  the  glory  of  the  sun  by  the  warmth 
of  his  friend's  hand. 


HERETICS  AND  INFIDELS.  261- 

Was  the  Lord  present  to  them,  aiid  hidden  from 
him  ?  With  a  sharp,  sudden  pain  at  his  heart  that 
wrung  the  moisture  out  upon  his  lashes,  Bennet  Lane 
bowed  his  forehead  upon  his  hand  and  owned  that  it 
was  just.  For  in  the  white  light  of  that  moment  he 
saw  aright  his  feeling  for  Felix  Gold  :  how  he  had  half 
envied,  half  despised  him  ;  had  resented  his  very  virtues, 
which  had  shone  before  men  to  glorify  Christ,  but  not 
the  Church — his  Church,  the  Church  of  Bennet  Lane. 
And  as  he  had  never  seen  it  before,  he  saw  now,  that  he 
would  have  rejoiced  had  Felix  Gold  been  overtaken  in  a 
fault,  that  he  would  have  said  to  his  friend,  "  See  the 
outcome  of  heresy ! " 

But  Jesus  Christ,  the  Head  of  the  Church — nay,  his 
own  familiar  friend  in  whom  he  trusted — had  hidden 
from  him,  the  anointed  priest,  the  face  he  revealed  to 
Cyril  and  to  Felix  Gold. 

And  it  was  very  just. 

A  groan,  half  stifled,  broke  from  him.  Then, 
through  the  darkness  of  his 'soul  and  the  darkening 
of  his  bodily  eyes  by  the  closed  lids  with  their  fringe 
of  misty  tears,  and  the  shadowing  hand,  came  the  low, 
clear  voice  of  Felix  Gold,  the  heretic — the  man  who 
might  not  attempt  to  celebrate  the  holy  supper,  or 
loose  the  chain  of  sin  about  the  neck  of  a  brother, 
save  by  incurring  the  sin  of  sacrilege  at  the  peril  of 
his  own  soul. 

"  '  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  my 
name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them.'  In  the  midst, 


262  FROM   DUSK  TO   DAWN. 

iny  brother ;  no  nearer  to  one  than  another.  It  is  but 
our  eyes  that  are  holden." 

How  had  the  man  so  read  his  heart  ? 

There  was  no  sacrilege  in  the  words  to  Bennet  Lane, 
yet  were  they  not  indeed  an  absolution  ?  for  out  of  the 
midst  of  the  darkness  grew  suddenly  a  Face.  He  could 
not  have  described  it,  far  less  have  pictured  it  on  canvas 
had  the  artist's  power  been  his;  there  was  no  color, 
there  was  scarcely  form  to  the  vision ;  but  the  eyes  were 
full  of  pity,  pardon,  tenderness. 

How  long  the  silence  lasted  he  never  knew.  It  was 
broken  by  a  quick  rap  at  the  door,  a  tremulous  hand 
upon  the  knob,  and  Fritz  Hermann  entered,  with  an 
agitated  haste  which  seemed  but  to  intensify  the  peace 
of  those  within. 

"Ah,"  he  said  with  hushed  vehemence,  "you   are 
well  here,  good  friends ;  oh,  you  are  very  well  in  this  • 
holy  place !   I  bring  with  me  the  devil  of  distraction  and 
dispeace ;  drive  out  him,  therefore,  not  me." 

"  You  are  welcome,"  said  Cyril,  holding  out  a  lan- 
guid hand.  "  Sit  here  beside  me.  We  will  try  to  help 
you  in  whatever  way  you  will." 

"  Will  ?  "  said  Fritz  Hermann.  Ach  Gott,  that  I  had 
never  willed ! " 

"  Then  you  had  never  lived,"  said  Felix  Gold. 

"  So !  and  ach  Gott,  that  I  had  never  lived ! "  he 
said,  with  the  same  suppression  of  himself.  "  Cyril,  I 
am  but  come  to  say  farewell — only  that." 


HERETICS  AND  INFIDELS.  263 

"  You  go  away  ?  " 

"  Ja  !  ja  wolil !  I  go  this  night."  He  paused,  as  if 
for  breath,  pressed  his  strong,  white  hands  together, 
palm  to  palm,  struggled  with  himself,  then  burst  forth 
in  a  great  cry : 

"  I  must — so  !  — I  must  put  the  ocean  between  me 
and  her ! " 

"  You  love  her  ?  "  said  Cyril,  gently  and  unsurprised. 

"  I  made  my  accursed  experiments,"  he  said,  with 
increased  agitation.  "  She  was  but  my  tool,  my  instru- 
ment, my  corpus  vile.  I  thought  with  pride  that  there 
was  to  her  no  danger  from  me.  Would  I  have  harmed 
her  ?  But  I  laid  my  will  upon  hers.  She  breathed,  ate, 
slept,  as  I  commanded ;  her  whole  physical  nature  was 
responsive  to  me.  The  mind — the  soul — what  did  I  want 
with  these  ?  They  lay  asleep — useless  to  me.  Then 
came  you,  and  their  slumbers  were  broken;  the  soul 
answered  your  soul,  and  struggled  against  the  body, 
which  was  my  bond -slave." 

"  But  you  tried  to  free  her,"  said  Cyril,  whose  very 
lips  had  grown  white. 

"  Tried — strove — agonized,  but  I  could  not,"  he 
said  hoarsely.  "  My  own  will  had  sprung  from  my  con- 
trol, as  a  spring  bent  too  far  flies  back  and  wounds  the 
holder.  We  were  bound  together  like  two  dead  bodies. 
Do  I  love  her?  I  know  not.  Only  I  think  of  her 
always ;  all  of  me  cries  out  for  her ;  therefore  must  I 
flee,  for,  remaining,  I  should  take  that  of  her  I  may 
have,  but  her  soul  would  be  thine,  and  she  would  die." 


264:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  Her  soul  is  God's,"  said  Cyril  Deane,  and  could  say 
no  more. 

"God's?  Ay,  if  there  be  a  God.  Was  it  there  I 
erred  ?  Because  her  soul  was  God's  ? " 

"  And  your  soul  also,"  said  Felix  Gold.  "  Souls  that 
are  his  can  meet  in  him  only ;  this  is  the  essence  of  love 
— all  love,  the  love  of  father  and  child,  friend,  brother, 
sister,  and  of  married  hearts.  This  is  the  soul  of  love, 
without  which  it  is  but  dead  and  decaying.  Love  comes 
down  from  the  Father  and  goes  to  and  fro  with  us 
every  day.  Again,  it  lifts  our  hearts  toward  the 
Father,  for  love  is  the  very  life  of  Christ,  and  God  is 
love." 

Bennet  Lane  had  raised  his  head  and  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  speaker. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Felix  Gold,  with  strange  solemnity, 
"  to  blaspheme  love,  is  it  not  to  blaspheme  God  himself  ? 
To  wield  that  strange  power  of  look  and  touch — the 
lover's  power — over  the  body,  neglecting,  scorning  the 
heart,  the  soul ;  or  to  cast  aside  as  unholy,  because  with 
one  hand  it  touches  earth,  that  form  of  love  which  the 
Lord  himself  has  chosen  for  his  own  emblem,  the  love 
of  the  bridegroom  for  his  bride — that  love  which  shares 
most  fully  his  own  self-devotion,  his  creative  power,  in 
which,  through  which,  he  has  willed  to  redeem  the 
world.  Friends,  brothers,  which  blasphemy  is  worse  ?  " 

"  Mine  ! "  cried  Fritz  Hermann.  "  I  divorced  soul 
and  body;  I  bound  her  physical  nature  to  me,  and 
repelled  her  soul.  Ah,  if  she  had  indeed  loved  this 


HERETICS  AND  INFIDELS.  265 

Arthur,  she  had  been  safe  ;  he  was  but  a  mirage  of  her 
fancy,  a  phantom  evoked  by  my  power  to  guard  her 
against  you,  Cyril  Deane,  but  vanishing  at  a  glance  of 
your  eye.  Mine — my  crime  is  worse ;  but  she  hates 
me;  her  will,  as  it  frees  itself,  repels  me  from  her. 
She  will  never  love  me;  and  lest,  in  my  madness,  I 
should  harm  her,  I  will  put  the  ocean  between  us." 

Then  Bennet  Lane  arose  and  went  slowly  out  into 
the  afternoon  sunshine.  And  it  was  with  him  as  with 
one  who,  having  dwelt  always  in  a  valley,  is  suddenly 
transported  to  a  mountain  top,  whence  he  sees  clearly 
the  relation  of  his  village  to  those  around  him,  and 
the  source  of  the  river  on  whose  banks  he  sported  in 

childhood. 

i 

"  Have  I  been  so  far  wrong  ?  "  he  said.  "  What  is  it 
to  be  a  priest  ?  And  what  is  love  ?  Is  this  the  angelic 
life?  No.  But  are  we  angels?  Again,  no.  Then 
why  should  mortal  man  be  more  wise  than  his  Maker? 
For  surely  the  Christ-life  is  better  than  that  of  any 
angel,  and  the  Christ-life  is  a  life  of  love." 


CHAPTEK  III. 

"  AS   YOU   WILL  !  " 

"DEAB  Meta,  will  you  speak  a  little  with  our 
brother  Cyril  ?  He  is  waiting  to  see  you." 

Meta  started  slightly,  glanced  sharply  at  Sophie, 
grew  even  paler  than  her  wont,  then  laid  aside  her 
book,  and  rose  quietly  and  composed.  "  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  him,"  she  said.  "  He  is  in  the  parlor  ?  " 

Perhaps  Sophie  was  a  trifle  disappointed.  It  had 
now  been  more  than  a  fortnight  since  she  had  kissed 
Meta's  lips  and  felt  the  beating  of  her  heart ;  but  from 
that  moment  both  heart  and  mind  of  her  friend  had 
been  to  her  a  sealed  book. 

Day  by  day  the  girl  had  withdrawn  more  and  more 
into  herself.  Cyril's  name  had  been  freely  mentioned 
between  them,  his  indisposition  and  gradual  return  to 
health  freely  discussed.  The  subject  had  apparently 
aroused  in  Meta  no  emotion ;  her  eyes  had  not  faltered, 
neither  had  her  cheek  flushed,  and  she  had  given 
Sophie  no  opportunity  to  learn  anything  from  the 
throbbings  of  her  heart. 

"  It  is  strange,  strange  of  her,"  his  wife  said  to  Felix. 
"  I  am  sure — oh,  very  sure — that  she  loves  him,  yet — " 


"AS  YOU  WILL!"  267 

"  There  is  no  '  yet '  in  love,  my  Miranda,"  he  said 
tenderly.  "  If  she  love  him,  leave  it  there.  When  he 
asks  her  she  will  tell  him  all." 

No,  in  love  there  is  no  "  yet "  ! 

Cyril  and  Meta  knew  that  very  well.  It  was  the 
same  room  in  which  they  had  first  met ;  he  thought  of 
it  as  she  came  to  meet  him  in  her  favorite  white,  soft, 
flowing  robe,  with  her  brown,  heavy  waves  of  hair  cres- 
cent-clasped as  then  at  the  back  of  her  beautiful  head, 
and  rippling  far  below  her  waist.  But  as  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  his,  he  saw  that  there  had  been  indeed  a  change. 
The  dreamy,  half-conscious  look  that  had  pained  him 
then  had  wholly  disappeared ;  she  was  calm,  collected, 
almost  cold,  yet  the  coldness,  the  slightness  of  her  touch 
as  the  white  fingers  lay  a  moment  in  his  palm,  though 
they  stung  him  with  sharp  pain,  came  at  least  from 
Meta  herself,  Christ's  free-woman,  not  in  bondage  to 
any  man,  and  beginning  to  be  delivered  from  the  bond- 
age of  her  own  will. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  better,"  he  said ;  "  you  know 
how  I  grieved  for  you  in  your  sickness  and  sorrow." 

He  could  not  guess  how  the  sound  of  his  voice,  for 
which  she  had  so  longed,  shook  her  with  joy  and  terror. 
Yet  the  tears  rose  quickly  at  his  reference  to  little 
Hugh,  but  she  dared  not  yield  to  them. 

"  I  am  still  weak,"  she  said ;  "  I  can  not  speak — 
You,  too,  have  been  ill — you  look — 

"  Older,  they  tell  me,"  he  said,  for  she  had  over- 
rated her  strength  and  self-control ;  she  could  not  tell 


268  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

him  how  he  looked  to  her,  when  her  eyes  so  long  had 
been  empty  of  his  image. 

Yes,  he  looked  older ;  the  boyishness  had  gone  for- 
ever from  his  face.  In  its  place  was  a  strange,  tender 
sweetness  and  brightness,  half  stern  in  its  utter  purity. 
She  could  not  answer  him,  but  he  went  on  lightly 
enough : 

"  We  all  grow  older,  you  know,  and  ic  does  one  no 
harm  to  look  so." 

"  No,  no  harm,"  said  Meta.  She  could  not  talk  to 
him ;  a  weight  was  on  her  tongue,  her  limbs  were  pal- 
sied, her  voice  came  from  far  away  and  had  in  it  a  sound 
of  tears.  Yet  she  was  very  quiet  and  composed — a  little 
sad,  perhaps,  but  that  was  only  natural.  She  took  up  a 
fan  from  a  table  at  her  side,  a  fragile  Chinese  trifle  of 
ivory  and  peacock's  feathers,  and  waved  it  lightly  to  and 
fro. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cyril,  "  it  is  growing  warm.  I  am  glad 
you  are  off  so  soon  to  the  sea-side." 

"  Sophie  needs  the  change  as  much — perhaps  more 
than  I,"  she  said  ;  "  and  this  little  cottage  presented  it- 
self. Felix  said  it  was  providential,  and  I  suppose  he 
knows  about  those  things.  It  is  an  excellent  opportunity 
of  returning  some  of  my  obligations  to  her." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  providential." 

At  least  it  was  a  possible  thing  to  talk  about,  and, 
difficult  as  was  speech,  silence  was  certainly  impossible  ; 
so  she  went  on  carelessly  enough.  Cyril  turned  away 
his  eyes  from  her  face,  yet,  in  spite  of  her  composure, 


"AS  YOU  WILL!"  269 

her  even  repellent  manner,  he  felt  passing  from  one  to 
the  other  wave  currents  of  electric  sympathy.  He  did 
not  understand  her ;  what  man  would  ?  He  did  not  take 
time  to  reason  about  it  or  know — as  Meta  knew — that 
one  moment's  silence  would  have  melted  the  ice-film 
between — ah,  not  between  their  souls ;  it  was  only  hand 
and  tongue  that  seemed  fettered  by  the  frost-giants. 
And  the  words  which  had  been  burning  on  his  lips  were 
frozen  there.  Afterward  he  said  to  himself,  "  She  was 
not  ready  to  hear  me,  and  it  is  right  I  should  await  her 
pleasure,"  but  at  the  moment  a  great  sadness  filled  his 
eyes,  and  the  ice-film  touched  for  a  moment  his  heart, 
that  loved  her  so. 

"  They  will  be  my  guests,  you  know,"  she  went 
on  ;  "  Sophie  constantly,  and  Felix  will  come  back 
and  forth  as  he  can.  I  am  glad  to  be  rich  for  their 
sakes." 

"  Francis  Merton  is  not  with  you  ?  " 

"He  has  returned  to  India.  I  fear  that  I  disap- 
pointed him.  He  hoped  I  should  be  a  sort  of  high- 
priestess,  seeress,  prophetess,  of  theosophy.  You  see,  I 
disappoint  every  one." 

The  words  escaped  her  almost  without  her  volition  ; 
she  would  have  given  worlds  to  recall  them ;  but  Cyril 
only  said  gravely :  "  Is  it  not  rather  that  these  shallow 
fountains  disappoint  you  ?  Theosophy  can  never 
quench  the  thirst  of  the  soul." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  stupidly  as  she  felt,  but 
words  would  not  come  to  her.  Then — for  anything  was 


270  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

better  than  silence — she  hurried  out  very  stammeringly  : 
"  I  am  trying  to  learn ;  Felix  is  teaching  me." 

"  None  could  do  so  better,"  he  said. 

"And  you,"  she  said,  "you  are  to  leave  Fairtown 
also  ?  " 

"  You  know,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  promised  to  the 
work  of  a  missionary  before  my  ordination.  Then — it 
seemed  right — I  am  sure  it  was  right — that  I  should 
come  to  Fairtown.  Now — "  he  hesitated,  looked  at  her 
wistfully — "it  has  given  me  great  pain,"  he  said  simply. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  look  of  full,  clear 
comprehension ;  for  the  thought,  the  image,  of  herself, 
fled  away  at  his  appeal.  But  she  did  not  speak. 

"  But  for  Felix  I  could  hardly  have  borne  it,"  he 
went  on.  "  Doubted,  misunderstood,  suspected  on  every 
side,  my  every  action  misconstrued,  my  work  ham- 
pered." 

"  And  you  were  never  sorry  you  had  come  to  Fair- 
town  ?  " 

"  I  knew — I  know  still — that  God  sent  me.  May  I 
tell  you  how  ?  " 

She  answered  him  again  only  with  her  eyes,  but  he 
was  satisfied.  He  told  her,  bending  forward  in  his  chair, 
with  his  elbow  on  his  knee  and  his  eyes  upon  the  mat- 
ted floor,  of  that  early  eucharist  in  the  college  chapel 
and  Arthur's  presence  bidding  him  forth.  "  When  I  saw 
you,  and  knew  that  he  had  loved  you,  I  believed  that  I 
knew  why  ;  but  oh,  the  depths  of  meaning  that  lay  still 
behind!" 


"AS  YOU  WILL!"  271 

She  did  not  answer ;  the  ice-film  was  gone,  and  she 
was  not  afraid  of  the  silence  now. 

"  Then  do  they  indeed  come  back  to  us? "she  said 
dreamily. 

"  To  do  God's  bidding,  and  of  their  own  free  will," 
he  said.  "  Arthur  sent  me  to  you,  and  you  to  me.  Have 
you  forgotten  your  dream  ?  Meta,  you  have  not  forgot- 
ten Arthur  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said ;  then,  with  her  white  hands  clasped 
upon  her  knee  and  her  clear  eyes  on  his,  she  went  on : 
"  But  it  was  only  fancy — a  girl's  fancy,  I  think  ;  I  could 
not  have  loved  him." 

"  And  did  he  know  this,  in  the  light  of  the  other 
world?  Did  he  therefore  send  me — "  He  checked 
himself,  waited,  spoke  again  :  "  Meta,  for  whatever  pur- 
pose I  was  sent  here,  my  work  in  Fairtown  is  over.  In 
another  month  I  shall  no  longer  be  Dr.  Lydgate's  assist- 
ant. There  is  no  need  of  a  heavenly  message  now  ;  my 
duty  is  clear  and  plain.  I  shall  go  back  to  my  old 

plans ;  in  the  autumn  I  shall  sail  for  C .  You  are 

going  away  in  a  few  days ;  will  you  try,  until  I  see  you 
again,  to  think  what  it  is,  this  life,  this  work,  to  which 
I  am  going?  I  will  send  you  books,  papers,  mission 
journals.  Will  you  read  them  ?  " 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  taken  her  hands  in  his. 
She  let  them  lie  there ;  her  dark,  fringed  eyelids  flut- 
tered, as  though  she  strove  once  more  to  answer  him 
with  a  look,  but  the  eyes  remained  hidden  and  the  lips 
were  dumb. 


272  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  As  you  will,"  lie  said  after  a  pause ;  "  I  will  not 
ask  your  promise  even  for  such  a  little  thing.  Only 
this,  Meta :  when  I  leave  JFairtown,  may  I  come  to  you  by 
the  sea?" 

Still  she  did  not  answer. 

"  Not  even  that  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  as  you  choose ;  let 
it  be  as  you  choose." 

He  did  not  let  her  hands  fall  abruptly ;  gently,  ten- 
derly, he  folded  them  together  before  he  released  them 
and  turned  to  go.  At  the  door  he  paused,  looked  back, 
and,  seeing  her  stand  statue-like,  with  folded  hands  and 
bent  head,  even  as  he  had  left  her,  he  returned  swiftly, 
and  for  a  moment  bent  over  her,  without  touching  a 
thread  of  her  falling  hair  or  a  fold  of  her  white  robe. 
The  silence  of  that  moment  was  holier  than  prayer, 
sweeter  than  a  caress,  more  tender  than  a  benediction ; 
but  Meta  did  not  speak. 

When  the  outer  door  clanged  to  behind  him,  and  his 
steps  were  no  more  heard  upon  the  gravel  walk,  she 
turned  quietly  away  to  her  own  room ;  but  once  safe 
behind  her  bolted  door  and  lowered  blinds,  the  passion 
and  agony  within  her  broke  forth  with  fierce,  silent 
vehemence  ;  and,  for  how  long  she  did  not  measure,  the 
frightened  Sophie  heard  her  pacing  back  and  forth,  and 
guessed  at  the  wringing  of  the  white  hands  and  the 
tearless  sobs  which  she  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

"  But  why  should  she  weep,  since  they  love  one  an- 
other ?  "  she  asked  of  Felix. 

He  smiled  tenderly.    "  Who  of  us  can  read  the  heart 


"AS  YOU  WILL!"  273 

of  another  ? "  he  said.  "  Is  it  not  agony  to  be  tossed 
upon  the  waves  of  such  a  sea  as  the  sea  of  earthly  love  ? 
And  our  Meta  has  not  yet  learned  how  to  quell  the 
storm;  for  in  her  heart  the  gentle  Jesus  lies  still 
asleep." 


18 


CHAPTEE  IV. 
"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT  WITH  FERVENT  HEAT." 

IT  was  more  than  four  weeks  later  that  Cyril  Deane 
entered  Dr.  Lydgate's  study  to  take  leave  of  his  some 
time  rector.  The  doctor's  good-humored  face  was  a 
trifle  paler  than  usual,  his  keen  eyes  less  clear  and  more 
unsteady.  It  was  indeed  with  deep  regret  that  he  parted 
from  his  young  deacon,  in  whose  departure  the  loss  of 
his  son  returned  upon  him  with  the  fresh  and  vivid 
grief  of  a  year  before. 

And  for  this  reason  the  rector  was  rather  more 
stingingly  sarcastic  and  epigrammatic  than  ever  before. 

"  So  you're  off,  are  you?  "  he  said.  "  And  how  many 
more  scrapes  will  you  get  into  before  you  sail,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  None,  I  hope,"  returned  Cyril,  smiling. 

"  Humph  !  and  your  first  objective  point,  I  imagine, 

will  be  Z .  Sea  air,  you  know,  is  good  for  your 

complaint.  How  is  she,  by  the  by  ?  " 

"  Miss  Leonard  ?  Not  so  well  as  I  had  hoped,"  re- 
plied Cyril,  his  bright  face  clouding  with  anxiety.  "  I 
have  not  heard  from  herself  directly,  but  Gold  was  there 
for  a  day  last  week,  and — " 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL   MELT."  275 

"  Oil,  she  is  just  homesick  for  you,"  said  the  rector 
easily.  "  She'll  be  able  to  sail  with  you  in  the  fall ;  no 
trouble  at  all  about  that." 

He  walked  quickly  once  or  twice  across  the  room 
with  hurrying,  agitated  footsteps ;  then,  laying  a  hand 
on  Cyril's  shoulder:  "If  you  had  known  the  girl  she 
was !  "  he  said,  "  eager,  ardent,  impressible —  Ah,  that 
was  the  trouble — too  impressible;  she  took  color  from 
every  one  with  whom  she  came  in  contact.  I  was  very 
fond  of  her — no  one  could  have  helped  loving  her — yet 
I  opposed  Arthur's  fancy  as  soon  as  there  was  a  decent 
excuse  ;  and — you'll  not  thank  me,  Deane,  but — " 

"  Go  on,  sir.  I  shall  thank  you  for  whatever  you 
like  to  say." 

"  You  see,  I  know  her  so  well,"  said  the  doctor ; 
"  and  temperaments  like  hers — there's  a  curious  sort  of 
self-distrust  in  all  willful  people;  but  Meta — why,  it 
amounted  to  self-immolation.  Any  one  with  a  stronger 
— or  at  least  a  firmer — will  than  herg,  she  was  ready 
to  submit  to  blindly,  if  only  they  held  out  to  her  a 
promise  of  something  beyond,  something  higher,  which 
she  wanted,  vaguely  enough,  without  knowing  its  exact 
nature.  Then  came  disappointment,  reaction,  rebellion. 
You  see,  that  was  why  I  could  not  even  attempt  to  see 
her — in  my  case,  there  was  some  natural  resentment. 
If  there  is  any  hope  of  her  healthful  spiritual  develop- 
ment it  is  in  you,  my  boy ;  but,  oh,  for  your  own  sake 
and  for  hers,  be  careful  how  you  overpersuade  her." 
Cyril  did  not  reply,  and  the  doctor,  after  a  little 


276  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

more  tramping,  threw  himself  into  his  arm-chair  and 
went  on  in  a  lighter  tone : 

"  I'm  not  sure  but  I  should  sail  without  her,  and  let 
her  come  afterward  if  she  felt  inclined  ;  then  you'd  be 
sure  of  her  free  consent ;  otherwise — but  it  would  hard- 
ly do,  eh  ?  " 

Cyril  shook  his  head.  "Monastic  discipline,  and 
outside  the  order  of  Providence,"  he  said.  "  Besides, 
it  is  doubtful  if  I  could  either  persuade  or  overper- 
suade." 

He  passed  his  hand  wearily  across  his  brow  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that  vitalism  does 
not  seem  to  agree  with  you  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  not  perfectly  vitalized,"  said  Cyril 
eimply. 

"  Ah,  just  so.  But  I  am  glad  to  have  another  op- 
portunity of  talking  it  over  with  you.  Why  don't  you 
give  it  to  the  world  in  pamphlet  form  ?  " 

"  It  has  hardly  shaped  itself  clearly  enough  as  yet, 
doctor ;  but  perhaps  I  may,  if — " 

"  If  ?  Oh,  I  see.  Yes,  that,  of  course,  must  be  settled 
first,"  said  the  rector.  "  Come,  now,  as  I  understand 
you,  vitalism  is  simply  will-power  ?  " 

"  Simply  ?  No,  not  simply"  returned  Cyril,  with 
brightening  eyes.  "  Take  it  from  the  other  side,  sir. 
Define  hypnotism." 

"Hypnotism?    Sleep." 

"  But  what  is  sleep  ?  " 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL   MELT/'  277 

"  Why,  sleep — well,  sleep  is  a  condition  in  which  the 
senses  and  faculties  are  dormant — " 

"  Dormant !    Now,  Dr.  Lydgate." 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  yes,  dormeo —  Humph  !  same  word,  isn't 
it  ?  See  here,  young  man,  criticism  is  my  line,  not  defi- 
nition. You  define,  now,  and  I'll  criticise." 

"  I  should  say,"  said  Cyril,  "  though  really  I  haven't 
thought  it  out,  that  in  sleep  the  senses  and  faculties  are 
inactive." 

"  Are  they  ?  But  how  about  the  man  who  hears  in 
his  sleep  a  knock  at  his  door,  dreams  along  journey  full 
of  incidents,  and,  ending  in  a  railroad  accident,  yet 
wakes  before  the  servant  has  finished  knocking  and  tells 
him  it  is  near  train  time.  I  should  not  call  that  man's 
hearing,  memory,  and  imagination  inactive,  by  any 
means." 

"  Then  insert  the  word  '  seem,'  "  said  Cyril.  "  Seem 
to  be  inactive." 

"  But  how  about  talking  in  one's  sleep,  and  all  the 
phenomena  of  somnambulism  ?  " 

"  Ha !  I  have  it ! "  cried  the  young  man,  after  a 
moment's  thought.  "  Sleep  is  a  condition  in  which 
not  only  the  bodily  powers,  but  mind,  memory,  will^  and 
imagination,  pass  temporarily,  though  perhaps  not 
wholly,  from  the  control  of  the  ego." 

"That's  good,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate.  "And  hypno- 
sis?" 

"  Hypnosis  is  that  condition  in  which  the  rule  of 
the  ego  over  the  individual — " 


278  FROM   DUSK  TO   DAWN. 

"  Is  it  not  that  rule  which  makes  him  an  indi- 
vidual?" 

"  Undoubtedly.  And  hypnosis  is  the  subjection  of 
the  ego  to  another  personality,  sometimes  complete,  or 
nearly  so,  as  in  the  various  phenomena  of  mesmerism  ; 
sometimes  partial,  as  in  cases  of  what  we  call  bad  influ- 
ence." 

"  Is  not  a  good  influence  sometimes  hypnotic  ?  " 

"  Hypnotic  power  may  be  used  for  good  ends,  and 
often  is,"  said  Cyril.  "  In  cases  where  the  ego  of  the 
subject  is  so  dominated  by  his  evil  passions  as  to  be 
helpless — well,  I  suppose  it  would  be  a  sort  of  moral 
imprisonment,  reformative  or  otherwise  in  its  effects, 
that's  all.  We  should  only  have  to  consider  the  reac- 
tion on  the  hypnotizer,  of  which  I  should  be  afraid." 

"And  vitalism?" 

"Vitalism  does  not  dominate,  but  emancipates, 
strengthens — in  short,  vitalizes  the  ego,  which  then 
works  out  the  unification  and  salvation  of  the  indi- 
vidual in  fear  and  trembling.  There  is  no  danger  in 
it  either  to  subject  or  agent,  for  its  own  old  beautiful 
name  is  love." 

"  Is  there  no  reactive  effect  on  the  vitalizer  ?  " 

"  There  may  seem  to  be,"  said  Cyril,  "  but  it  comes 
not  from  his  power  on  others,  but  from  their  power 
upon  him.  Gold's  theory  is  a  little  different  from  this ; 
but  so  it  looks  to  me.  We  are  all  walking  magnets, 
you  know,  doctor — " 

"  Humph  !     By  the  by,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate,  "  what  is 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  279 

the  final  result  of  your  researches  into  spiritualism  ?    Of 
course  you  reject  the  legerdemain  theory  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  account  for  a  quarter  of  the  facts,"  said 
Cyril. 

"  No ;  I  have  been  so  informed  by  credible  witnesses 
of  phenomena,  such  as  materialization,  under  circum- 
stances which  precluded  the  idea  of  fraud." 

"Hypnosis    may    explain    materializations,"     said 
Cyril  thoughtfully. 

"  Is  it  possible  to  hypnotize  a  number  of  persons  at 
once  ? " 

"  I  believe  that  is  held  to  be  still  an  open  question ; 
but  my  own  theory  would  be  that  it  is  more  than  pos- 
sible, since  moral  influence  is  cumulative  in  a  sort  of 
geometrical  ratio  with  the  number  of  individuals.  It 
is  not  that  the  medium  hypnotizes  them  all  at  once, 
but  that  they  hypnotize  each  other.  Look  at  the  blind, 
unreasoning  fury  of  an  angry  mob,  the  wild  terror  of  one 
struck  with  panic." 

"  I  see,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate.  "  But  even  hypnotism 
does  not  account  for  all  the  phenomena  of  spiritual- 
ism." 

"No.  When  a  heavy  table  is  shattered,  a  piano 
walks  around  on  its  own  legs,  or  a  pitcher  of  water  is 
brought  in  by  invisible  hands  and  emptied  on  the 
heads  of  those  present — " 

"  It  would  depend  on  the  weather,"  said  Dr.  Lyd- 
gate, "  how  I  liked  that  sort  of  legerdemain." 

"  And  in  cases  like  that  at  the  Hermitage,  where  it 


280  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWX. 

was  certainly  not  legerdemain,"  said  Cyril.  "  Doctor, 
I  said  just  now  that  we  are  walking  magnets.  Do  we 
know  the  limits  of  our  magnetic  power,  or  estimate  its 
influence  upon  matter  ?  If  matter  is  only  the  result  of 
a  more  or  less  unstable  equilibrium  of  opposing  forces, 
can  we  venture  to  estimate  the  effect  of  introducing 
such  a  force  as  vital  magnetism  directed  by  the  human 
will  ?  " 

"  For  instance,"  said  the  doctor. 

"For  instance,  causing  iron  to- float,  the  walls  of 
Jericho  to  fall,  bread  and  fish  to  multiply  indefinitely, 
or  a  mountain  to  be  taken  up  and  to  be  cast  into  the 
depths  of  the  sea." 

"  What  a  lot  of  digging  and  dynamite  that  would 
save  ! "  said  the  doctor. 

" '  His  yoke  is  easy,  and  his  burden  light,'  if  we 
would  learn  his  way,"  said  Cyril. 

"  Well,  but  after  deducting  hypnosis  and  vital 
magnetism,  is  there  any  residuum  of  spiritualistic  phe- 
nomena which  in  your  opinion  justifies  a  belief  in  the 
interference  of  departed  souls,  not  of  a  very  high  order 
of  intelligence  or  spirituality  ?  " 

"  George  MacDonald  thinks  so,"  returned  Cyril. 
"  At  present  I  can  only  say  that  it  may  be  possible,  but 
that  our  psychic  development  is  yet  too  imperfect  to 
allow  of  even  a  true  scientific  investigation.  What  we 
are  sure  of  is  that  the  method  of  these  spirits — if  such 
there  are — is  the  method  of  hypnotism.  It  does  not 
enfranchise,  but  enslaves,  the  ego;  and  until  we  our- 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  281 

selves  attain  a  higher  stage  of  development,  our  wisest 
course  is  to  let  them  alone.  In  our  present  stage  it  is 
evident  that  we  can  not  help  them,  and  that  they  must 
therefore  inevitably  injure  us.  When  we  are  able  to 
meet  them  on  the  spiritual  plane  of  existence,  and  assist 
in  their  vitalization  and  resurrection — " 

"  Whew !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Kesurrection  ?  Is 
that—" 

"  The  ultimate  result  of  vitalism,  complete  vitalisiu," 
returned  Cyril.  "  '  Behold,  I  tell  you  a  mystery.  We 
shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be  changed,  in  a 
moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump. 
For  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be 
raised  incorruptible,  and  we  shall  be  changed.'  " 

"  Changed — but  how  ?  As  it  has  always  been  con- 
sidered one  of  the  deepest  mysteries  of  the  faith,  I  pre- 
sume you  will  find  no  difficulty  in  explaining  it." 

"  I  merely  venture  to  speculate,  Dr.  Lydgate,  when 
I  say  that  the  change  is  perhaps  analogous  to  that  of 
graphite  into  a  diamond,  or  a  bar  of  steel  into  a 
magnet.'* 

"Or  both  combined?" 

"  We  must  combine  both,  I  think,  and  add  all  the 
transformations  and  changes  wrought  by  electricity  and 
vital  magnetism  before  we  can  form  even  a  mental 
image  of  the  resurrection  body.  Perhaps  the  theoso- 
phists  are  right  about  polarization  of  material  cells, 
doctor.  For  the  will,  you  know,  we  decided  the  proper 
term  to  be  centralization;  but  as  thought  effects  a 


282  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

change  of  brain  substance,  and  determines  its  convo- 
lutions— " 

"  Or  does  the  redistribution  of  brain  substance  pro- 
duce thought  ? " 

"  Well,  you  know,  Fiske  decides  that  the  ultimate 
cause  of  thought  is  a  psychic  shock,  producing  a  wave 
of  brain-matter,  which,  one  would  say,  is  thought. 
This  psychic  shock,  I  should  say,  is  the  action  of  an- 
other ego  upon  ours — ultimately  of  course,  of  the  high- 
est of  all,  the  Divine  Ego — the  great  Self,  as  Max  Miil- 
ler  calls  him.  Now,  if  the  ego  can  transform,  or  trans- 
pose, brain  matter,  why  may  it  not,  through  the  ac- 
tion of  a  will  correctly  centralized,  redistribute — polar- 
ize, if  you  like — every  material  particle  of  the  body, 
which  will  then  bear  something  of  the  same  relation  to 
its  former  state  as  a  snow  crystal  bears  to  a  drop  of 
water?" 

"  I  seem  to  gain  a  faint  glimmering  of  an  idea  of 
what  you  mean,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate. 

"  It  is  more  than  I  could  expect,"  said  Cyril.  "  I 
confess,  however,  that  I  like  the  image  of  the  crystal  or 
the  diamond ;  it  brings  out  better  than  any  other  the 
idea  of  incorruption  and  unchangeableness.  For  we 
are  very  sure  of  one  thing  about  the  resurrection  body 
— as  there  is  no  corruption,  there  is  no  waste  ;  it  is  mat- 
ter in  a  state  of  perfectly  stable  equilibrium,  in  which 
all  opposite  forces  are  absorbed,  unified  in  the  life- 
force — ' 

"  Death  swallowed  up  in  victory." 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  283 

"  And  as  there  is  no  change  or  disintegration,  so  the 
body  has  no  need  of  nutrition  or  reproduction." 

"  But  they  eat  only  the  fruit  of  the  Tree  of  Life,  and 
neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. But  this  change — will  it  be  sudden,  or  gradual  ?  in- 
dividual, or  racial  ?  Can  a  man  attain  it  for  and  by  him- 
self, or  must  it  come  through  natural  selection  after 
many  generations?" 

"  It  would  seem  that  individuals  may  have  attained 
to  it  alone,"  said  Cyril ;  "  Enoch  and  Elijah,  for  example, 
without  death,  and  Moses,  perhaps,  through  death. 
The  theory  of  the  Church  has  been  for  many  ages  that 
the  martyrs  at  death  attained  the  resurrection  body, 
which  fits  in  curiously  enough  with  the  spiritualistic 
doctrine  that  blood  is  the  medium  of  materialization." 

"  Enoch,  Elijah,  Moses.  But,  then,  how  is  Christ 
the  first  fruits?" 

"A  sheaf  need  not  be  absolutely  first  in  order  of 
time,  doctor,  if  it  be  larger,  finer,  and  fitter  for  presen- 
tation in  the  Temple.  Besides,  eternal  life  has  nothing 
to  do  with  time ;  and  therefore  Enoch,  Elijah,  and 
Moses,  if  they  have  attained  unto  the  resurrection  of  the 
dead,  did  so  in  the  spirit  and  power  of  Christ,  who  is 
therefore  the  first  fruits  of  our  race." 

"  "Well  put,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  thought  you  would 
have  left  out  the  last  part,  and  then  I  should  have  had 
you.  Go  on." 

"As  for  heredity,"  continued  Cyril,  "it  is  certain 
that  it  has  already  exerted  a  wonderful  power  in  the  re- 


284  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

demption  of  soul  and  body,  though,  its  effects  are  so 
complicated  with  those  of  training  and  environment 
that  it  is  difficult  to  judge  of  them  alone.  But  I  do 
not  see  why  the  particles  of  the  body  may  not  be  so 
modified  by  heredity  as  to  have  an  innate  tendency 
toward  the  final  change,  which  must  always,  however, 
be  sudden  at  the  last.  It  was  so  in  the  case  of  Elijah,  if 
that  be  what  is  meant  by  the  chariot  of  fire ;  and  cer- 
tainly it  was  so  at  the  resurrection  of  the  Lord  Jesus." 

«  And—" 

"  And  so  also  will  it  be  at  the  resurrection  of  the 
just.  '  For  them  also  that  sleep  in  Jesus ' — that's  a 
striking  figure  to  compare  with  our  definition  of 
sleep ! " 

"  The  sleep  of  death,  in  which  the  body  passes  en- 
tirely from  the  control  of  the  ego.  Yes,  it  is." 

"  They  shall  come,"  said  Cyril,  with  his  face  aglow, 
"  and  we  which  remain  shall  be  caught  up  to  meet  him 
in  the  air.  With  a  great  oneness  of  effort,  in  him  and 
by  him,  we — or  rather  he — shall  fashion  anew  the  body 
of  our  humiliation  in  which  we  now  groan,  desiring  to 
be  delivered." 

"'And  the  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth 
in  pain  together  until  now.'  " 

" '  The  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature  waiteth 
for  the  revealing  of  the  sons  of  God';  the  efflux  of 
vital  magnetism  itself,  transformed  and  informed  by 
the  Spirit,  shall  melt  the  elements  as  with  fervent  heat, 
and  there  shall  be  a  new  heaven  and  new  earth." 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  285 

"  The  reign  of  the  saints.  But  how  of  the  wicked 
and  the  heathen  ?  for  you  have  spoken  only  of  those 
who  sleep  in  Jesus." 

"  '  The  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  first,'  "  said  Cyril. 

"  Then,  we  that  are  alive,"  said  the  rector. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  you  see  the  point  is  that  nothing  is 
said  of  the  wicked  at  all,  anywhere  in  the  Bible,  with 
the  exception  of  a  single  parable.  I  have  heard  people 
argue  that  for  the  wicked  and  impenitent  there  could 
be  no  resurrection.  I  am  myself  inclined  to  hope  for  a 
great  missionary  enterprise,  a  crusade  of  Christ  and  his 
saints  against  the  kingdom  of  death." 

"  An  attempt  to-  vitalize  hell,"  said  Dr.  Lydgate. 

"  Does  not  St.  Peter  tell  us  of  one  attempt,  when 
he  went  and  preached  unto  the  spirits  in  prison  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  Well,  at  least  there  is  noth- 
ing narrow  or  cramped  about  your  speculations,  Deane. 
Are  there  any  limits  to  your  spirit  of  prophecy  ?  " 

"  Only  St.  Paul's,"  said  Cyril.  «  '  For  he  must  reign, 
till  he  have  put  all  his  enemies  under  his  feet.  The 
last  enemy  that  shall  be  abolished  is  death.  And  when 
all  things  have  been  subjected  unto  him,  then  shall  the 
Son  also  himself  be  subjected  unto  him  which  did  sub- 
ject all  things  unto  him,  that  God  may  be  all  in  all.' " 

"  I  see.  By  the  by,  doesn't  your  theory  of  vitalism 
throw  some  light  on  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  " 

"  It  surely  does,  though  I  had  not  happened  to  think 
of  it.  Vitalisis,  I  trust,  is  more  or  less  advanced  in  all 
of  us ;  for  those  in  whom  the  Spirit  has  been  utterly 


286  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

crushed  out  and  driven  away  there  does  seem  very  little 
hope,  humanly  speaking." 

"  Speaking  any  way,  if  it  have  been  utterly  crushed 
out.  That  point  our  human  judgment  can  never  de- 
cide ;  but  certainly,  where  there  is  no  life,  there  is  noth- 
ing for  vitalism  to  work  on.  So  this  forces  us  to  admit 
the  possibility  that  some  may  finally  be  lost." 

"  Or  annihilated,"  said  Cyril.  "  But  while  a  soul 
continues  to  exist  there  must  still  be  hope." 

"  Ah,  another  point.  This  vitalism — of  course,  bod- 
ily discipline  has  very  much  to  do  with  it ;  but  do  you 
imagine  that  any  special  dietary  regimen  can  affect  it  to 
an  appreciable  extent  ?  " 

"  If  vitalism  is  of  the  soul — a  moral  influence — and 
transforms  the  body  through  the  working  of  vital  mag- 
netism, food  for  the  soul  is  more  to  it  than  food  for  the 
body." 

"  The  body  and  blood  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
preserve  thy  body  and  soul  unto  everlasting  life." 

"  Given,  shall  I  say  chiefly,  in  the  Lord's  Supper  ?  I 
dare  not  say  chiefly.  I  will  say,  given  most  perceptibly 
to  the  outward  man.  I  believe  that  many  a  devout  soul 
has  felt,  realized,  the  real  presence  of  the  Lord  first  at 
the  altar ;  afterward  it  has  become  a  constant  abiding. 
I  am  devoutly  thankful,  for  one,  that  I  was  brought 
up  a  High  Church  Episcopalian." 

"  The  contribution  of  the  Episcopal  Church  to  the 
great  Catholic  Church  of  the  future,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  will  be  her  ritual  and  sacramental  system.  The  tend- 


"THE   ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  287 

ency  to  realize  that  we  are  not  pure  spirits,  but  men  of 
flesh  and  blood,  with  senses  and  tastes  which  demand 
and  should  receive  gratification,  is  too  evident  in  all 
denominations  to  be  ignored.  But  at  present,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  our  dear  old  Church  keeps  her  treasure 
very  closely  wrapped  in  a  napkin,  and  buried  in  her  own 
fold,  round  which  she  has  erected  a  wall  of  separation 
that  has  got  to  be  thrown  down,  Deane — thrown  down  ; 
and  you  men  of  the  younger  generation  have  got  that 
job  cut  out  for  you." 

"  A  social  democracy  would  make  short  work  of  it," 
returned  Cyril.  "  One  can  not  be  a  socialist  and  a 
separatist  too.  In  fact,  I  think  the  first  step  toward 
universal  vitalisis  is  universal  brotherhood  in  temporal 
things.  Under  an  individualistic  social  system  we  can 
be  saved  only  one  by  one,  as  individuals  ;  to  redeem  the 
race  we  must  first  incarnate  the  idea  that  we  are  mem- 
bers one  of  another." 

"  But  about  the  food  question,  '  the  perfect  way  in 
diet '  ?  "  said  the  doctor ;  "  for  there  must  be  a  perfect 
way,  you  know." 

" '  The  Son  of  Man  came  eating  and  drinking,' " 
said  Cyril  thoughtfully  ;  "  and  we  have  this  broad  rule 
from  St.  Paul,  '  Eat  what  is  set  before  you,  asking  no 
questions  for  conscience'  sake.'  But  this,  of  course,  only 
establishes  the  general  fundamental  truth  that  bodily 
food  has  not  the  relation  to  spiritual  life  which  theos- 
ophists,  for  example,  claim  for  it.  Further  than  this  we 
can  only  say  that  all  stimulants  and  narcotics  which 


288  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

affect  the  brain  and  will-power — the  moral  sense,  as 
doctors  tell  us — inevitably  retard  or  destroy  vitalisis ; 
opium,  alcoholic  liquors,  tobacco,  even  tea  and  coffee,  be- 
yond a  certain  limit,  or  perhaps  altogether — I  am  not 
sure  of  this." 

"  No,  don't  be  sure,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  I  do  like  my 
cup  of  coffee  in  the  morning." 

"  So  do  I,"  returned  Cyril ;  "  but  I  have  been  ques- 
tioning whether  it  is  best  for  me.  It  stimulates  the 
action  of  the  brain,  and  produces  an  exhilaration,  a  glow 
of  generous  purpose  and  sympathy,  at  times,  which  are 
very  pleasant,  but  which,  as  they  do  not  proceed  from 
the  ego,  are  a  sort  of  semi-hypnotism,  and  should  be 
avoided." 

"  That  principle  would  land  you  in  the  prohibition 
of  all  tonics  and  medicines." 

"  Certainly  their  habitual  use,"  said  Cyril,  smiling. 
"  I  do  not  know  that  it  could  do  any  harm  to  take  a 
cup  of  coffee  once  in  six  months  or  so,  for  a  head- 
ache. And  surely,  doctor,  vitalism  is  worth  the  sac- 
rifice of  more  than  bodily  food.  Do  you  suppose  that 
it  was  only  through  death  that  our  Lord  could  assume 
that  which  we  call  the  resurrection  body  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  learning  from  you,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  returned  Cyril,  "  that,  if  there 
could  be  to  him  degrees  of  hardness,  it  must  have 
been  more  difficult  to  transform — crystallize,  one  might 
almost  say — a  dead  body  than  a  living  one.  Besides, 
as  we  know  of  one  instance  before  his  death  when 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  289 

he  allowed  his  glory  to  shine  forth,  we  may  assume 
that  he  might  have  done  so  at  any  other  moment, 
and  that  consequently  he  was  not  merely  born  of  the 
Virgin,  but  of  his  own  will  took  our  flesh,  in  all  its 
infirmities.  I  believe  that  the  first  step  in  the  path 
along  which  I  have  been  so  wonderfully  led  was  the 
restoration  to  our  calendar,  by  the  General  Convention, 
of  the  Feast  of  the  Transfiguration." 

Dr.  Lydgate  did  not  reply,  and  for  a  moment  there 
was  silence.  Then  Cyril  rose  and  held  out  his  hand ; 
his  features  worked,  and  for  a  while  he  could  not 
speak.  "  It  is  natural  enough,"  he  said  presently,  "  this 
wish  to  remain  always,  to  build  tabernacles  on  the 
spot  where  one  has  seen  so  glorious  a  vision." 

"  But  one  must  go  forth  to  the  world  and  cast 
out  devils,"  said  the  rector,  affectionately.  "  God  bless 
you,  my  boy,  and  make  you  happy  if  it  be  his  will." 

"  Happiness  or  misery,  as  He  pleases,"  said  Cyril,  but 
his  eyes  were  dim. 

As  he  left  the  house  Cyril  was  able  to  say  farewell 
to  Mrs.  Lydgate.  She  arose  from  her  sewing-chair  as 
he  entered  the  room,  and  gave  him  her  hand  with  what 
she  meant  for  kindness.  He  looked  rather  wistfully 
into  the  cold,  hard  face  of  this  woman  who  had  never 
liked  him,  whom,  in  truth,  he  had  never  been  able  to 
like.  It  was  bitter  to  him  to  leave,  not  an  enemy,  but 
an  unfriend,  behind  him,  and  he  pressed  her  hand 
earnestly  as  he  said  his  good-by. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Deane,"  said  the  lady.   "  I  wish  you 
19 


290  PROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

a  pleasant  journey,  and  such  a  measure  of  success  and 
happiness  as  is  good  for  us  fallible  creatures." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Lydgate,"  he  said,  a 
little  ruefully  ;  "  but  I  fear  you  think  me  very  fallible 
indeed." 

"It  is  hardly  my  place  to  judge  you,"  returned 
the  rector's  lady.  "  In  fact,  Mr.  Deane,  I  have  never 
had  much  sympathy  with  foreign  missions  " — which 
seemed  to  have  little  to  do  with  Cyril's  fallibility. 
"  I  think  we  should  do  better  to  Christianize  the  heathen 
at  our  doors.  But  if  there  must  be  such,  I  fancy  you 
will  do  better  at  that  work  than  at  any  other." 

"  Safely  out  of  the  way,  and  less  likely  to  get  other 
folk  in  trouble,"  he  said.  "At  all  events,  you  will  wish 
me  Godspeed,  and  now  and  then  remember  me  in  your 
prayers  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  that  with  all  my  heart,"  she  replied,  with 
a  brighter  smile  and  warmer  manner  than  he  had  ever 
seen  in  her.  "  And  if  I  have  seemed  hard  or  unjust  to 
you,  Mr.  Deane — as  Nina  thinks — I  beg  you  to  believe 
that  it  was  unintentional.  I  confess  that  I  do  not 
quite  understand  you,  or  sympathize  in  the  course  you 
have  pursued." 

"  How  often  do  we  understand  one  another  ?  "  said 
Cyril.  "  But  there  is  One  who  always  understands  and 
always  sympathizes,  both  with  you  and  with  me,  Mrs. 
Lydgate.  Good-by." 

Nina  was  shedding  tears  in  an  open  and  undisguised 
manner ;  which  was  a  real  relief  to  her  mother,  since  that 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  291 

lady  was  wise  enough  to  know  how  quickly  ready  tears 
are  dried. 

Cyril  took  the  girl's  hand  in  both  his.  "  Good-by, 
dear  little  friend,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  believe  he  is  a  good  young  man  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Lydgate,  when  he  had  left  them. 

"  He's  a  saint  on  earth,"  said  Nina  indignantly  ;  but 
though  her  mother  looked  superior,  she  kept  back  the 
sarcastic  words  that  rose  to  her  lips. 

Late  that  evening,  Bennet  Lane  came  hurriedly  up 
the  steps  of  the  rectory. 

"Oh,  is  Dr.  Lydgate  out?"  he  said  to  Nina,  who 
happened  to  be  the  only  one  at  home.  "  I  have  a  mes- 
sage to  him  from  Deane." 

"  Have  you  ?  He  got  off  this  afternoon,  I  suppose," 
said  the  girl.  "  Oh,  dear,  how  empty  Fairtown  is 
without  him ! " 

Her  lip  quivered  as  she  spoke.  Bennet  Lane  re- 
garded her  tenderly.  Some  instinct  told  him  that  this 
feeling,  so  openly  expressed,  was  not  love,  but  only  its 
exquisite  forerunner,  the  fair,  false  dawn  of  love's 
eternal  day.  Within  the  white  walls  of  the  Castle  of 
Innocence  in  the  Valley  of  Childhood,  the  sleeping 
heart  of  the  maiden  still  awaited  the  kiss  of  the  true 
prince.  Where  was  he  ? 

Bennet  Lane  felt  his  own  mental  question  thrill 
through  him,  even  to  the  ends  of  his  fingers ;  but  he 
was  strangely  abashed  in  the  presence  of  this  young 
girl.  How  low,  unworthy,  ignoble,  now  appeared  to 


292  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

him  his  former  theories  of  love — how  degrading  his 
thought  of  womanhood !  A  deep  color  came  to  his 
face  ;  his  heart  beat  with  loud,  heavy  throbs. 

Nina  looked  up  in  surprise  at  his  silence.  "  Has 
anything  happened  to  him  ?  "  she  asked  in  alarm. 

"  To  him  ?  No,  nothing  to  him,  personally,"  he  said ; 

"  only  he  will  not  reach  Z as  soon  as  he  expected. 

He  had  a  telegram  summoning  him  to  his  brother,  who 
is  very  ill." 

"  Poor  Meta  !  "  said  Nina. 

"  If  it  could  result  in  breaking  up  that  affair — "  said 
Bennet,  looking  at  the  sweet,  grave,  girlish  face,  and 
wondering  at  the  blindness  of  some  men. 

"  Well,  if  God  put  the  love  into  their  hearts,  I  sup- 
pose he  knows  best,"  said  Nina  simply.  "  The  question 
is,  of  course,  whether  it  is  real  love  or  only  a  make- 
believe  ;  and  perhaps  this  further  separation  has  come 
to  help  them  to  find  out.  But  I  forget,  Mr.  Lane  ;  you 
are  one  of  the  believers  in  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy." 

He  did  not  reply. 

"  Susie  Prond — that's  a  friend  of  mine — and  I  talk 
a  great  deal  about  these  things,"  continued  Nina. 
"  She's  a  good  deal  older  and  wiser  than  I  am — better 
too,  of  course." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Bennet  Lane. 

She  gave  him  a  sharp,  quick  glance.  "  Do  you  know 
her  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  hastened  to  reply.  "  She  may  be 
Solomon  and  St.  Paul  combined ;  but —  "Well,  never 


"THE  ELEMENTS  SHALL  MELT."  293 

mind ;  I  have  left  my  message  for  your  father,  and  had 
better  go  home.  Only,  Miss  Nina,  of  course  I  can't 
deny — it  has  all  been  preached  or  printed — in  short,  I 
have  made  a  thorough  fool  of  myself  on  the  celibate- 
clergy  question.  I  wish  you'd  forget  it  all,  and  that  I 
could" 

"  Then  you  have  changed  your  mind  ?  "  she  cried 
in  amazement. 

"  I  have  changed — I  mean,  I  see  that  I  was  wrong ; 
but  perhaps  it  is  rather  a  change  of  heart"  said  Bennet 
Lane. 

Nina  laughed  aloud  ;  she  "  really  could  not  help  it," 
she  explained  to  herself  afterward.  He  joined  in  her 
merriment,  though  a  little  ruefully,  and  departed  with  a 
very  formal  pressure  of  her  hand. 

Left  alone,  the  girl  laughed  again  unrestrainedly. 
"  "Well,  what  would  Susie  say  to  that  ?  "  she  said.  "  How 
red  he  grew  !  And  his  hand  was  like  ice." 

She  laughed  again,  but  more  quietly,  blushing  at  the 
same  time  so  charmingly  that  it  was  really  a  pity  Ben- 
net  had  not  been  there  to  see. 

"  I  guess,"  said  Nina,  with  her  head  to  one  side  and 
her  finger  to  her  lips,  "  I  guess  I  won't  tell  Susie  about 
it — just  yet." 


CHAPTER  V. 

"THE  SEERESS." 

"SHE  will  be  sorry  that  yon  do  not  come — our 
Meta,"  said  Felix  Gold  tenderly. 

Cyril  turned  away  his  face  and  looked  silently  out  of 
the  car-window.  They  had  nearly  reached  the  junction 
where  their  roads  parted,  and  where,  while  he  kept  on 
toward  his  brother's  home,  his  friend  would  change  cars 
for  Z . 

"  Are  you  sure,  Felix,  that  she  will  know  whether  to 
be  sorry  or  glad  ?  "  he  said  after  a  pause. 

Felix  smiled.  "  One  must  not  look  too  closely  into 
the  heart  of  a  young  maid,"  he  said,  "  but — yes,  Cyril, 
I  think  she  will  know." 

It  was  late  when  Felix  reached  the  sea-side  cottage  ; 
and  both  Sophie  and  Meta  had  retired,  in  obedience  to 
his  stringent  commands. 

He  let  himself  in,  and  went  softly  up  to  his  room, 
pausing  a  moment  outside  Meta's  door,  where  within  all 
was  darkness  and  silence.  "  Be  with  her,  0  Father, 
whether  she  wake  or  sleep,"  he  said  voicelessly ;  "  sup- 


"THE  SEERESS."  295 

ply  to  her  all  loss,  and  draw  her  to  thyself  by  every  dis- 
appointment." 

There  was  a  soft  stir  within  the  room,  as  though  even 
his  thought  had  roused  her,  but  Meta  was  not  awake  ; 
she  had  only  drawn  the  pillow  closer  under  her  cheek, 
and  lapsed  into  deeper  slumbers,  with  a  smile  of  happi- 
ness upon  her  lips.  A  tender  peace  had  come  into  her 
heart  that  night,  she  could  not  tell  whence  or  how ;  only 
it  seemed  as  though  Cyril's  presence  drew  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  brought  healing  with  it  to  her  tossed  and 
troubled  being.  How  she  had  longed  for  him  !  How 
she  had  fretted,  and  ached  with  a  positive  physical  pain, 
because  at  that  moment  when  he  had  held  her  hands  in 
his  and  called  her  "  Meta  "  she  had  given  him  neither 
look  nor  sign !  It  would  have  been  easy — oh,  easy 
enough  to  be  impossible.  But  why  should  it  have  been 
impossible  ?  Meta  did  not  know. 

It  was  not  for  his  sake  that  she  longed  to  have  given 
him  that  one  look,  that  little  word ;  for,  as  she  some- 
times said  bitterly,  he  seemed  to  be  doing  very  well 
without  it.  Felix  brought,  or  wrote,  constant  news  of 
him ;  and  returning  health,  then  health  quite  restored, 
and  excellent  spirits,  was  the  invariable  report. 

If  she  had  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  if  she  had  returned 
the  pressure  of  his  fingers  ever  so  slightly !  One  word 
leads  to  another ;  and  a  man  may  spend  an  hour  or  so 
on  the  railway  occasionally  when  it  is  his  betrothed 
wife  who  looks  and  waits. 


296  FEOM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

But  how  well  lie  seemed  to  be  doing  without  her ! 
After  all,  it  was  best  as  it  was.  Perhaps  he  did  not 
really. — "Well,  well,  at  last  he  was  coming,  and  she  should 
know  then ;  and  if  he  felt  bound  in  honor  by  what  had 
already  passed —  Yet,  what  had  passed  ?  Nothing,  less 
than  nothing.  She  had  misunderstood  him;  he  had 
only  felt  sorry  for  her. 

Thus  was  she  driven  about  by  the  winds  of  her  vary- 
ing moods ;  yet  all  the  while — like  the  great  peace  at 
the  heart  of  the  ocean — lay  in  her  heart  full  faith  in 
Cyril's  love.  And  now  he  was  coming,  and  her  doubts, 
fears,  tremors,  were  all  hushed,  as  though  One  had  said 
to  them,  "  Peace — be  still." 

She  woke  in  the  morning,  strong  and  glad,  and 
lay  for  a  moment  feeling  his  nearness ;  for  she  never 
doubted  that  he  had  come  with  Felix.  Had  he  ever  dis- 
appointed her?  Now  he  lay  asleep  under  her  roof, 
within  a  few  feet  of  her — for  the  cottage  was  of  Lilli- 
putian proportions — sleeping  very  deeply  too,  for  there 
was  no  sound  through  the  thin  partition.  In  a  short 
time — oh,  very  soon  now — she  should  see  him,  and 
then — 

She  sprang  up  and  moved  noiselessly  about  the 
room,  trembling,  growing  red  at  every  sound,  lest  he 
should  hear  and  be  wakened — wakened  by  her !  The 
thought  so  overpowered  her  that  she  forgot  to  notice 
that  while  from  other  rooms  in  the  cottage  came  sounds 
of  rising  and  preparation,  in  his  all  was  still  as  death. 

She  hurried  down-stairs.     The  cottage  fronted  the 


"THE  SEERESS."  297 

sea,  and  stood  back  from,  and  slightly  above,  the  beauti- 
ful pebbly  beach.  She  paused  a  moment  at  the  door. 
It  was  very  still,  this  great,  wide  ocean ;  out  and  out  she 
looked,  until  it  seemed  that  her  gaze  must  pierce  even 
the  blue,  fathomless  air ;  "  as  if  I  ought  to  see  the  Con- 
tinent of  Europe,"  she  said  to  herself,  then  smiled.  For 
where  she  looked  was  no  continent,  no  ocean ;  curved 
away  by  the  rounding  of  the  great  globe  lay  all  things 
earthly,  and  to  Meta's  eyes  was  left  alone  the  world 
of  heaven,  the  ocean  of  air,  to  whose  light,  clear  azure 
the  watery  ocean  answered  a  deep,  solemn,  awful  blue. 
Awful !  yet  upon  its  surface  moved  countless  ripples — 
so  still  it  was,  one  scarce  could  call  them  waves — and 
the  laughing  sun-rays  danced  fearlessly  across  it,  scat- 
tering sparkles  of  white  fire  from  crest  to  tiny  crest. 

A  smile  as  bright  as  the  footprints  of  the  sunbeams 
touched  the  girl's  lips  for  a  moment;  then  the  low, 
deep  roar,  which  for  all  these  weeks  had  been  her  lul- 
laby, came  to  her  ear  with  sudden,  terrible  significance. 
It  was  very  still  here,  and  very  beautiful ;  but  without, 
there,  beyond  the  harbor,  the  surf  moaned  ceaselessly 
around  the  relentless  rocks.  Why?  What  did  it  all  mean? 
Did  God — this  God  of  Felix  Gold,  of  Sophie,  and  of 
Cyril — this  God,  who  seemed  to  her  a  new  God,  in  whom 
she  supposed  she  believed,  yet  who  had  not  yet  come 
very  close  to  her — did  he  give  to  any  creature  a  voice, 
save  as  it  pleased  him  ?  and  could  it  please  him  were  it 
meaningless  ?  And  if  the  meaning  were  there,  could  not 
human  ears  receive  it  ?  We,  who  are  woven,  blood  and 


298  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

bone,  of  the  ocean's  substance,  can  not  we  hear  the 
ocean's  message? 

The  color  died  out  of  her  cheeks,  but  her  great  gray 
eyes  shone  with  a  new  and  solemn  light,  her  lips  parted 
with  a  smile  of  awe,  and  a  quiver  of  delight  swept  over 
her,  as  a  ray  from  the  sun  of  truth  touched  the  ocean  of 
her  own  heart,  which  answered  with  an  instant  spark- 
ling dimple. 

She  turned,  carrying  the  sunbeam  with  her,  and 
went  to  her  tiny  dining-room,  where  she  was  moving 
busily  about  amid  her  cups  and  saucers,  when  the  .door 
opened  to  admit  Sophie  Gold. 

Meta  smiled,  and  said  good-morning,  but  she  was  too 
deeply  absorbed  in  the  thought  that  had  come  to  her 
to  note  the  sorrowful  perplexity  upon  her  friend's  face. 

"  Felix  has  not  yet  come  down  ? "  she  asked  after 
a  while.  For  the  first  time  in  their  intercourse  she 
wished  Sophie  would  go  away ;  for  she  was  arranging 
little  clusters  of  pansies  and  sweet-peas  at  each  plate, 
and — 

"  He  has  gone  out  upon  the  beach,"  said  Sophie ; 
"  he  will  hear  me  when  I  call — " 

The  place  intended  for  Cyril  was  just  where  Sophie 
stood ;  there  was  nothing  for  it,  therefore,  but  to  deposit 
her  posy  boldly,  since  all  the  other  plates  were  now  gar- 
nished ;  she  turned  away  to  the  window  for  an  instant 
and  touched  it  swiftly  to  her  lips,  then  laid  it  down. 

Sophie  caught  her  lifted  hand  and  held  it  in  both 


"THE  SEERESS."  299 

hers.  "  Dear,"  she  said,  "  how  our  Cyril  will  be  glad  of 
those  pansies ! " 

Meta  stood  still  and  white,  looking  into  her  friend's 
face  with  eyes  like  those  of  a  dumb  creature  awaiting 
its  death-blow.  But  Sophie's  news  was  news  no  longer 
to  Meta. 

"  But  you  will  send  them  to  him.  That  will  he  a 
great  comfort  to  our  Cyril  in  his  trouble,  if  you  will 
send  him  the  flowers  with  just  a  kind  word.  For  his 
brother,  his  elder  brother,  who  to  him  has  been  as  a 
father,  is  ill — dying,  perhaps.  Our  Cyril  has  gone  to 
him,  but  he  will  come  when  he  can.  Here  is  his  note 
to  say  so." 

Meta  had  not  spoken.  She  took  the  note  and  read  it 
calmly  enough,  for  she  seemed  to  herself  suddenly 
turned — flesh,  mind,  and  soul — to  ice.  Sophie's  eyes 
were  full  of  tears  ;  she  would  not  look  at  her  friend  ; 
but  Meta  was  desperately  careless  of  observation  just 
then.  She  stood  where  she  was,  exposed  to  any  gaze, 
whether  of  friend  or  servant,  and  read — 

"  I  had  hoped,  as  you  know,  to  see  you  this  evening ; 
and  as  I  am  told  you  have  been  good  enough  to  prepare 
a  place  for  me  in  your  cottage,  I  must  express  my  grati- 
tude and  regret,  or  such  of  both  as  I  can  get  on  paper. 
When  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  my  brother  it  is  of  course 
impossible  for  me  to  say.  That  I  shall  see  you  when  I 
can,  you  know." 

This  was  all,  save  the  signature,  and  truly  it  was 
very  little. 


300  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"If  you  will  call  Felix,  Sophie,  we  will  have  our 
breakfast,"  she  said. 

She  went  through  the  meal  with  the  same  dull  pro- 
priety of  demeanor,  speaking,  smiling,  and  eating  just 
what  and  when  she  ought.  As  they  left  the  table, 
Sophie  took  up  the  pansies  from  Cyril's  unused  place. 
"  You  will  send  these,  dear  ?  "  she  said. 

"  You  may,  or  Felix,"  she  said. 

"  And  no  kind  word  to  go  with  it  ?  " 

"Do  not  urge  her,  Sophie ;  let  her  do  as  she  will," 
said  Felix  gently. 

"  I  am  anxious  always  to  be  courteous ;  that  requires 
no  urging,  I  should  hope.  Tell  Mr.  Deane  that  I  regret 
to  hear  of  his  trouble,  and  shall  be  glad  to  have  him  visit 
us  whenever  he  is  at  liberty  to  do  so." 

She  passed  from  the  room  coldly  and  calmly. 

"  Yes,  it  has  all  been  a  mistake,"  she  thought.  If 
he  had  cared  for  her,  would  he  have  passed  so  near  with- 
out stopping,  if  only  for  a  moment  ?  Brother  ?  It  would 
but  have  been  the  delay  of  a  few  hours  had  he  stayed 
all  night  at  the  cottage;  and  he  could  then  have 
reached  his  brother's  home  sooner  than  he  was  expected. 
For  at  the  very  last  moment,  as  he  stood  with  his  hand 
upon  the  knob  of  his  study  door,  the  telegram  had 
arrived ;  otherwise  he  could  certainly  not  have  caught 
the  afternoon  train,  and  there  was  no  other  till  mid- 
night. Well,  then,  did  not  those  extra  hours  belong  to 
her,  to  Meta  ?  But  he  had  sent  her  only  a  few  cold  lines, 
merely  what  courtesy  required.  He  did  not  care  for  her. 


"THE  SEERESS."  301 

"  Shall  you  like  to  go  for  our  row  this  afternoon,  dear 
Meta?" 

They  had  planned  for  it  days  before,  hoping  for  an- 
other oarsman  ;  but  Meta  answered  composedly  enough 
that  she  was  quite  ready.  Why  should  his  presence  or 
absence  be  aught  to  her  ? 

But  the  brightness  was  gone  from  sky  and  sea,  not 
merely  to  Meta,  but  in  reality ;  a  dull,  leaden  gray  was 
over  all ;  the  roar  of  the  surf  was  deep  and  threatening, 
and  the  little  boat  was  tossed  like  a  feather  upon  great 
foam-crested  waves. 

"  We  must  not  go  far  out,"  said  Felix  Gold ;  "  but 
the  storm  gathers  slowly,  and  it  is  glorious  to  feel  the 
swell  of  the  waves  beneath  us.  The  tide  is  coming  in, 
also,  and  we  can  therefore  return  quickly  when  we  will," 

Meta  sat  where  they  had  placed  her,  silent  and 
motionless.  Storm  or  sunshine,  safety  or  shipwreck, 
life  or  death,  what  did  it  matter  ? 

"  There,"  said  Felix,  pointing  to  a  tiny  yacht,  which, 
bowing  and  curtesying  until  her  white  sail  well-nigh 
touched  the  gray  waters,  was  dancing  merrily  toward  her 
anchorage  in  the  harbor.  "  See  there,  dear  Meta ;  that 
little  boat  has  the  wind  against  her,  yet  she  moves  even 
by  means  of  it,  by  shifting  her  sail  and  tacking,  now 
hither  now  thither,  but  always  nearer  home.  Were  it 
wise  of  the  pilot  to  steer  straight  for  the  shore  ?  No ; 
he  gains  by  yielding,  he  advances  by  changing  his 
course ;  he  will  be  safe  when  the  storm  comes." 

Meta  glanced  listlessly  at  the  yacht,  then  back  to  the 


302  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

face  of  the  speaker,  whose  eyes  were  upon  her,  while  he 
leaned  forward  over  his  crossed  oars. 

"  Suppose  the  boat  what  she  seems,  a  living,  sentient 
thing,"  said  Felix  Gold,  "  her  sail  an  organism,  grow- 
ing stiff  and  finally,  atrophied  from  disuse,  her  rudder 
a  human  will :  then,  might  one  not  know  how  the 
contrary  winds  were  sent  to  turn  her  from  her  straight 
course,  to  teach  her  flexibility  and  obedience  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Meta. 

"  Sister,"  said  Felix  Gold,  "  I  must  speak  to  you 
plainly.  It  will  pain  you,  but  I  must  speak  plainly. 
Why  are  you  angry  with  Cyril  ?  " 

"  Angry  ?  I  am — "  She  ceased.  She  could  not  say 
"  I  am  not,"  with  those  dark,  brilliant,  holy  eyes  upon 
hers. 

"  Love !  "  he  said  softly.  "  Is  it  a  thing  of  the  senses, 
of  the  meeting  of  eyes,  the  clasp  of  hands,  the  being  in 
this  place  or  that  ?  No,  love  is  of  the  soul ;  it  knows 
neither  of  time  nor  distance.  It  is  the  poor  earthly  body 
only  that  cries  out  for  the  human  presence." 

"  Felix ! " 

•  "  I  said  that  I  should  pain  you,"  he  went  on,  with 
tender  pity  in  voice  and  eyes.  "  Meta,  you  know  that 
Cyril  loves  you ;  your  heart  has  told  you  so,  and  you 
have  heard  it,  too,  from  his  own  lips.  Yet  you  are 
angry  because  he  comes  not ;  were  it  sorrow  only,  you 
would  weep." 

"  Felix,  you  are  wrong !  He  has  not — he  has  told  me 
nothing." 


"THE  SEERESS."  303 

"  Is  Cyril  Deane  like  other  men,  that  you  should  say 
so  ?  "  he  asked.  "  With  them,  indeed,  a  maiden  does 
well  to  doubt  and  hesitate,  to  be  on  her  guard  until  the 
word  is  said,  '  Will  you  marry  me  ? '  But  Cyril  ?  Tell 
me — no,  not  me,  but  answer  to  yourself — is  there  no 
word  or  look  of  his  whereof  you  can  say,  '  This,  were  it 
given  to  a  maiden  whom  he  loved  not,  wronged  both  her 
and  the  one  whom  he  shall  some  day  call  wife  ?  When 
you  have  answered  that  question,  sister,  you  will  know 
whether  Cyril  Deane  loves  you." 

Meta  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  So,  then,"  proceeded  the  deep  voice  whose  owner 
she  could  not  see,  "  so,  then,  if  he  love  you,  is  he  not 
already  present  with  you  ?  Are  not  his  thoughts  always 
about  you  ?  Is  not  his  heart  yours  ?  Is  not  this  the 
real  presence  of  love  ?  And  why  are  we  blind  and  dead 
thereto,  but  that  the  bodily  presence  is  craved,  cried  out 
for,  by  the  body,  yielded  to  by  the  body,  until  the  eyes 
of  the  soul  are  covered  by  the  burden  of  flesh  !  " 

"  But,  Felix—" 

"Ay,  my  wife,  I  know.  God  requires  not  of  us 
more  than  we  are  able  for.  '  He  setteth  the  solitary 
in  families,'  yet  not  every  marriage  is  according  to  his 
will.  Moreover,  it  is  upon  the  plane  of  our  development 
that  we  must  act — neither  above  nor  below  it.  By  this 
rule  shall  we  judge  ourselves :  if  the  earthly  presence 
conflict  with  another  duty,  it  is  of  the  flesh — must  be 
trampled  under  foot ;  otherwise,  it  is  a  means  toward 
the  perfecting  of  spiritual  love,  and  we  may  be  happy 


304:  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

therein,"  lie  added,  with  a  glance  over  his  shoulder  at 
Sophie,  who  sat  behind  him  in  the  bow.  "  And  if  we 
are  faithful  in  this,"  he  went  on  musingly,  "  it  may 
be  that  in  another  century  lovers  will  speak  heart  to 
heart  and  mind  to  mind,  though  an  ocean  roll  between 
them." 

A  great  surging  wave  lifted  the  boat  upon  its  crest, 
carried  it  on,  sank,  rose  again,  and  threatened  to  over- 
whelm them. 

"  We  have  stayed  too  long,"  said  Felix  Gold ; 
but  Meta  raised  her  face  and  smiled  upon  him  with  a 
white  radiance  upon  it,  such  as  had  never  shone  there 
before.  "  Not  too  long,"  she  said ;  "  not  too  long." 

He  was  bending  to  his  oars  and  did  not  answer,  but 
he  thought  of  Paul,  the  apostle,  to  whom  it  was  shown 
that  God  had  given  him  all  them  that  were  with  him  in 
the  ship. 

"  Has  the  seeress  found  her  true  inspiration  ? "  he 
thought. 

They  stood  for  a  moment  clinging  together  after 
they  had  reached  land,  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  surf 
and  watching  the  waves  as  they  rolled  in  higher  and 
higher,  the  crests  of  their  cave-like  hollows  white  with  a 
fringe  of  foam. 

"  Why  do  we  not  rule  the  sea  and  the  storm,  as  our 
Lord  did  ?  "  asked  Meta. 

Felix  turned  and  looked  down  into  her  eyes.  "  So  ! " 
he  said. 

"  We  have  chained  the  lightning,"  she  went  on,  half 


\ 


"THE  SEERESS."  305 

under  her  breath,  and  yet  as  though  she  must  speak ; 
"  and,  as  you  showed  me  just  now,  we  have  our  will,  in 
a  measure,  even  of  the  very  winds.  But  the  sea — it  is 
rebellious,  the  home  of  the  storms.  It  lets  us  live  by 
it,  upon  it,  along  its  shores,  use  it  in  various  ways,  yet 
all  the  while  is  singing  its  one  song  in  that  great  won- 
derful ocean-voice — a  song  which  every  one  hears  and 
no  one  can  interpret." 

"  No  one  ?  "  he  said  in  his  kind  voice. 

"  Is  it  like  this  ? "  she  said.  "  It  will  not  go  into 
verse,  which  is  perhaps  a  sign  that  I  do  not  fully  under- 
stand it : 

" '  I  am  old,  saith  the  ocean,  and  ye  men  are  young ; 

I  am  wiser  than  ye ; 

Yet  ye  will  not  heed  the  lesson  I  am  set  to  teach. 

Why  spend  your  labor  for  naught  f 

Ye  carve  my  bosom  with  boats, 

Ye  make  to  you  oars,  sails,  paddles,  implements  of  every  sort, 

Whereby  to  work  the  passage  I  would  freely  give. 

Then  mine  anger  ariseth,  and  I  dash  them  in  pieces  in  my  wrath. 

Behold,  I  may  not  be  fettered  by  the  power  of  the  brain  ! 

Take,  therefore,  the  kingdom  prepared  from  the  beginning  for  you. 

Ye  that  rule  earth,  be  also  lords  of  sea  and  storm  ; 

Walk  fearlessly  upon  my  waves  ;  behold,  they  are  slaves  of  the 

free  will ! 

Command  the  storm  clouds,  and  they  will  obey  you. 
But  rule  no  longer  through  vain  devices  of  man : 
Nay,  for  thereunto  I  will  never  yield. 
Behold,  I  am  set  as  a  witness  against  it ; 
Rule  by  the  eternal  might  of  life  unto  life ! ' " 


20 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SUNRISE. 

IT  was  three  weeks  later  that  Meta  again  awoke 
with  a  sense  of  the  nearness  of  him  she  loved.  This 
time  it  did  not  deceive  her.  Had  it,  then,  deceived  her 
that  other  time  ?  The  girl  thought  not ;  his  thoughts, 
his  prayers,  his  yielding  of  himself  to  the  will  of  the 
Lord,  all  these  had  been  hers,  and  had  brought  her 
into  so  close  a  union  with  his  spirit  that  the  bodily  pres- 
ence faded  out  of  reality  beside  it. 

And  yet  the  bodily  presence  had  been  very  dear. 
He  had  taken  her  hand,  he  had  looked  into  her  eyes  ; 
he  had  said,  "  It  is  pleasant  to  have  you  so  well  and 
strong,"  and  she  had  looked  fearlessly  back  and  an- 
swered, "It  is  because  I  am  happy;  I  have  found 
peace." 

They  had  sat  together,  they  four,  all  the  evening, 
and  talked  of  many  thing — of  signs,  and  the  interpreta- 
tion thereof ;  of  the  voice  of  the  sea,  once  more,  and 
such  like ;  and  Meta,  once  and  again,  had  felt  upon 
her  lips  the  sting  as  of  a  coal  of  fire  from  the  altar 
of  God,  and  her  fair  face  had  shone  white  in  its  glow. 
Then  she  had  spoken  as  it  was  given  her  to  speak, 


SUNRISE.  307 

and  Cyril  had  listened  with  a  joy  too  strong  for 
words,  too  deep  for  tears.  This  was  indeed  his  Meta, 
the  soul  he  had  freed  out  of  prison  (he  said  it  with  a 
glad  humility  ;  he  was  not  ashamed  or  afraid  to  say  it) — 
Christ's  free-woman,  able  to  give  herself,  to  be  truly 
his,  because  she  was  her  own  ;  and  only  her  own  because 
she  was  Christ's. 

Then  they  spoke  of  earthly  things.  Cyril's  brother 
had  but  lived  to  hear  his  promise  that  the  widow  and 
her  three  boys  should  be  to  him  as  his  own,  then  he  had 
passed  peacefully  away. 

"  Thank  you  again  for  your  kind  letter,"  he  said 
gravely  to  Meta.  "  I  was  sorry  not  to  answer  it  sooner 
and  more  fully,  but  my  hands  were  full,  and  I  knew 
that  I  should  see  you  soon." 

"  I  understood,"  she  said. 

The  widow  and  children  were  left  almost  unpro- 
vided for,  which  Cyril  admitted  might  possibly  delay  or 
alter  his  plans  of  missionary  life.  "  But  I  hope  it  may 
be  possible  so  to  arrange  that  the  delay  may  be  a  brief 
one.  I  should  like  to  sail  before  the  winter,"  he  said. 

"  Then  they  do  not  need  your  actual  guardianship  ?  " 
asked  Felix. 

"  My  sister  has  two  brothers — excellent  fellows — in 
the  same  town,  who  would  be  in  any  case  their  coun- 
selors," he  said.  "  And  if  I  remain  in  this  country  I 
shall  most  likely  locate  elsewhere — I  must,  you  know ; 
so  that,  if  they  were  reasonably  well  off  as  regards 
money  matters — 


308  FROM   DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

Meta  looked  up  and  smiled  as  she  met  his  eyes. 
Yes,  he  was  counting  upon  her  wealth,  and  why  not  ? 
It  was  only  that  as  she  trusted  him,  so  he  trusted 
her. 

They  said  good-night  quietly  and  as  other  friends. 
He  was  in  no  haste  to  claim  her,  nor  she  to  be  claimed ; 
were  they  not  already  each  the  other's  ? 

For  hours  the  girl  lay  awake,  too  happy  to  sleep ; 
then  she  scolded  herself,  and  willed  herself  into  slumber 
that  she  might  be  fresh  and  strong  for  the  next  day. 
Now  the  morning  had  come,  and  such  a  flood  of  golden 
light  poured  into  the  room  that  she  sprang  up  and 
hurried  to  the  open  window.  All  the  east  was  glorious 
as  with  the  glory  of  a  great  golden  topaz  ;  a  quiver  shot 
over  her  frame  ;  it  seemed  to  call  her  like  a  voice. 

Hastily  dressing  herself  and  binding  round  her 
head  the  braids  of  her  brown  hair,  she  wrapped  a 
great  white  shawl  about  her,  and  stole  noiselessly  from 
the  house,  down  toward  a  huge  castellated  bowlder  that 
lay  upon  the  beach,  and  clambered  deftly,  swiftly,  up 
its  rugged  sides. 

It  had  not  seemed  long,  yet  the  topaz  light  was 
gone — "  and  why  not,  having  called  me  ?  "  said  Meta. 
All  the  sky  was  an  exquisite,  tender  blue,  flecked  with 
dainty  clouds  of  feathery  white.  As  blue  as  the  sky 
was  the  solemn  waiting  sea ;  waiting — for  what  ?  Ah, 
the  sky  knew ! 

Over  in  the  east  it  was  all  a  beautiful  glowing  rose- 
color,  which  at  one  point  grew  and  deepened,  deepened  ; 


SUNRISE.  309 

it  was  just  the  shape  and  size  of  the  disk  of — what  ?  The 
sky  will  not  let  me  tell.  It  was  a  beautiful  secret  which 
the  sea  knew,  and  the  sky  had  just  discovered,  and  was 
blushing  about — this  wonderful  thing  that  was  just 
about  to  happen.  For  every  feathery  cloud  had  caught 
the  rosy  glow,  and  even  the  blue  between  shone  as 
through  a  mist  of  rose-color,  when  there  came  the  sound 
of  a  climber  up  the  rugged  steep,  and  the  beating  of 
Meta's  heart  revealed  his  name. 

She  did  not  turn ;  but  as  he  came  to  her  side,  she 
held  up  her  hand  with  a  gesture  for  silence. 

Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  glowing  glory;  the 
throne  was  ready  for  the  king.  Then — 

A  low  cry  broke  from  the  girl's  lips. 

It  was  only  a  point  of  living  flame,  but  it  was  a  globe, 
a  world,  the  parent,  sustainer,  and  enlightener  of  ours. 
They  could  feel  both  the  roundness  and  the  life  of  it. 
Higher  and  higher  it  rose,  slowly,  majestically,  until  the 
glory  of  it  passed  beyond  the  vision  of  earthly  eyes,  and 
there  poured  from  its  throne  a  pure  river  of  the  water  of 
life,  which,  nearing  their  feet,  became  as  the  street  of  the 
city,  pure  gold,  as  it  were  transparent  glass,  the  way  of 
life,  which  they  should  tread  at  last  together,  the  home 
prepared  for  them  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

Did  the  hope  rise  sun-like  in  his  mind  and  in  hers 
together  ?  Or  in  only  one,  and  thence  shine  into  the 
other,  by  means  of  that  communion  and  fellowship 
which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  him? 


310  FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 

"  1  know  not.    Who  knoweth  ?    Our  own  souls  we  scarcely  do 

know, 

And  none  knows  his  brother's.    The  dark  cloud  that  veils 
All  life,  lets  this  rift  through  to  glorify  future  and  past : 
Love  ever,  love  only,  love  faithfully,  love  to  the  last ! " 

To  the  last !  Through  pain  and  toil,  sorrow  and  suf- 
fering, death  and  the  grave,  resurrection  and  everlasting 
life. 

With  the  awful  grandeur  of  such  a  vow  upon  their 
souls,  they  turned  and  looked,  each  into  the  eyes  of  the 
other. 

Then  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

And  the  glory  of  the  sunrise,  the  glory  of  God,  was 
in  their  hearts  and  shone  upon  their  faces. 


THE     END. 


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.—New  Ha-:  en  Palladium. 

PURITAN  PAGAN.     By  JULIEN  GORDON,  au- 
thor of  "A  Diplomat's  Diary,"  etc.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Cruger  grows  stronger  as  she  writes.  .  .  .  The  lines  in  her 
story  are  boldly  and  vigorously  etched."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  The  author's  recent  books  have  made  for  her  a  secure  place  in  current  literature, 
where  she  can  stand  fast.  .  .  .  Her  latest  production,  '  A  Puritan  Pagan,'  is  an  eminent- 
ly clever  story,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word  clever."  —  Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"  It  is  obvious  that  the  author  is  thoroughly  at  home  in  illustrating  the  manner  and 
the  sentiment  of  the  best  society  of  both  America  and  Europe."  —  Chicago  Times. 


A 


VERE.  By  Louis  COUPERUS.  Translated 
from  the  Dutch  by  J.  T.  GREIN.  With  an  Introduction  by 
EDMUND  GOSSE.  Holland  Fiction  Series.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Most  careful  in  its  details  of  description,  most  picturesque  in  its  coloring."  —  Boston 
Post. 

"  A  vivacious  and  skillful  performance,  giving  an  evidently  faithful  picture  of  society, 
and  evincing  the  art  of  a  true  story-teller."  —  Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"The  dtnoument  is  tragical,  thrilling,  and  picturesque."  —  New  York  World. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3.  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THOMAS  CARL  YLE. 

J-  Including  Wotton  Reinfred,  Carlyle's  only  essay  in  fiction  ;  the 
Excursion  {Futile  Enough)  to  Paris  ;  and  letters  from  Thomas 
Carlyle,  also  letters  from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  to  a  personal  friend. 
With  Portrait.  I2mo.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.75. 

"The  interest  of  '  Wptton  Reinfred'  to  me  is  considerable,  from  the  ske'ches 
which  it  contains  of  particular  men  and  women,  most  of  whom  I  knew  and  could,  if 
necessary,  identify.  The  story,  too,  is  taken  generally  from  real  life,  and  perhaps 
Carlyle  did  not  finish  it,  from  the  sense  that  it  could  not  be  published  while  the  per- 
sons and  things  could  be  recognized  That  objection  to  the  publication  no  longer  ex- 
ists. Everybody  is  dead  whose  likenesses  have  been  drawn,  and  the  incidents  stated 
have  long  been  forgotten."  —  JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE. 

"  '  Wotton  Reinfred  '  is  interesting  as  a  historical  document.  It  gives  Car'yle  be- 
fore he  had  adopted  his  peculiar  manner,  and  yet  there  are  some  characteristic  bits  — 
especially  at  the  beginning  —  in  the  Sartor  Resartus  vein.  I  take  it  that  these  are 
reminiscences  of  Irving  and  of  the  Thackeray  circle,  and  there  is  a  curious  portrait  of 
Coleridge,  not  very  thinly  veiled.  There  is  enough  autobiography,  too,  of  interest  in 
its  way."  —  LESLIE  STEPHEN. 

"  As  a  study  of  Carlyle  these  pages  are  of  very  great  value  ;  they  were  written 
before  he  had  acquired  that  peculiar  individual  literary  style  which  we  now  know  as 
Carlylese;  although  here  and  there  one  may  distinguish  some  of  the  odd  and  inflated 
terms  in  which,  in  later  years,  so  much  of  his  work  was  expressed.  The  romance 
abounds  in  passages  of  great  beauty."  —  Newark  Daily  Advertiser. 

"No  complete  edition  of  the  Sage  of  Chelsea  will  be  able  to  ignore  these  manu- 
scripts." —  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 


M 


EN,  MINES,  AND  ANIMALS  IN  SOUTH 
AFRICA.  By  Lord  RANDOLPH  S.  CHURCHILL.  With 
Portrait,  Sixty-five  Illustrations,  and  a  Map.  8vo.  337  pages- 
Cloth,  $5.00. 

"  The  subject-matter  of  the  book  is  of  unsurpassed  interest  to  all  who  either  travel 
in  new  countries,  to  see  for  themselves  the  new  civilizations,  01  follow  closely  the 
experiences  of  such  travelers  And  Lord  Randolph's  eccentricities  are  by  no  means 
such  as  to  make  his  own  reports  of  what  he  saw  in  the  new  states  of  South  Africa  any 
the  less  interesting  than  his  active  eyes  and  his  vigorous  pen  naturally  make  them." — 
Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  Lord  Randolph  Churchill's  pages  are  full  of  diversified  adventures  and  expe- 
rience, from  any  part  of  which  interesting  extracts  could  be  collected.  ...  A 
thoroughly  attractive  book." — London  Telegraph. 

"  Provided  with  amusing  illustrations,  which  always  fall  short  of  caricature,  but 
perpetually  suggest  mirthful  entertainment." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  The  book  is  the  better  for  having  been  written  somewhat  in  the  line  of  journalism. 
It  is  a  volume  of  travel  containing  the  results  of  a  journalist's  trained  observation  and 
intelligent  reflection  upon  political  affairs.  Such  a  work  is  a  great  improvement  upon 
the  ordinary  book  of  travel.  .  .  .  Lord  Randolph  Churchill  thoroughly  enjoyed  his 
experiences  in  the  African  bush,  and  has  produced  a  record  of  his  journey  and  explora- 
tion which  has  hardly  a  dull  page  in  it." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  Any  one  who  wishes  to  have  a  realizing  sense  of  actual  conditions  in  the  southern 
part  of  the  Dark  Continent  should  not  fail  to  avail  himself  of  Lord  Randolph's  keen, 
incisive,  good-humored  observations." — Boston  Beacon. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

(^TRAIGHT  ON.     A  story  of  a  boy's  school-life  in 

**J       France.     By  the   author    of  "The  Story  of  Colette."     \\iih 

86   Illustrations   by  Edouard  Zier.  320   pages.      8vo.     Cloth, 
$1.50. 

"  It  is  long  since  we  have  encountered  a  story  for  children  which  we  can  recom. 
mend  more  cordially.  It  is  good  all  through  and  in  every  respect." — Charleston 
News  and  Courier. 

"  A  healthful  tale  of  a  French  school-boy  who  suffers  the  usual  school-boy  persecu- 
tion, and  emerges  from  his  troubles  a  hero.  The  illustrations  are  bright  and  well 
drawn,  and  the  translation  is  excellently  done." — Boston  Commercial  Bulletin. 

"  A  real  story-book  of  the  sort  which  is  difficult  to  lay  down,  having  once  begun  it. 
It  is  fully  illustrated  and  handsomely  bound." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"  The  story  is  one  of  exceptional  merit,  and  its  delightful  interest  never  flags." — 
Chicago  Herald. 


T 


ILLUSTRATED  EDITION  OF  "COLETTE." 

HE  STORY  OF  COLETTE,  a  new,  large-paper 
edition.     With  36  Illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  great  popularity  which  this  book  has  attained  in  its  smaller  form  has 
led  the  publishers  to  issue  an  illustrated  edition,  with  thirty-six  original 
drawings  by  Jean  Claude,  both  vignette  and  full-page. 

"This  is  a  capital  translation  of  a  charming  novel.  It  is  bright,  witty,  fresh,  and 
humorous.  '  The  Story  of  Colette '  is  a  fine  example  of  what  a  French  novel  can  be, 
and  all  should  be." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"  Colette  is  French  and  the  story  is  French,  and  both  are  exceedingly  pretty.  The 
story  is  as  pure  and  refreshingas  the  innocent  yet  sighing  gayety  of  Colette's  life." — 
ProviJence  Journal. 

"A  charming  little  story,  molded  on  the  simplest  lines,  thoroughly  pure,  and  ad- 
mirably constructed.  It  is  told  with  a  wonderful  lightness  and  racmess.  It  is  full  of 
little  skillful  touches,  such  as  French  literary  art  at  its  best  knows  so  well  how  to  pro- 
duce. It  is  characterized  by  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  a  mastery  of  style  and 
method  which  indicate  that  it  is  the  work  rather  of  a  master  than  of  a  novice.  .  .  .  Who- 
ever the  author  of  'Colette  '  may  be,  there  can  be  no  question  that  it  is  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest, most  artistic,  and  in  every  way  charming  stories  that  French  fiction  has  been 
honored  with  for  a  long  time." — New  York  Tribune. 


H 


ERMINE'S  TRIUMPHS.  A  Story  for  Girls  and 
Boys.  By  MADAME  COLOMB.  With  100  Illustrations.  8vo. 
Cloth. 

The  popularity  of  this  charming  story  of  French  home  life,  which  has 
passed  through  many  editions  in  Paris,  has  been  earned  by  the  sustained  in- 
terest of  the  narrative,  the  sympathetic  presentation  of  character,  and  the 
wholesomeness  of  the  lessons  which  are  suggested.  One  of  the  most  de- 
lightful books  for  girls  published  in  recent  years.  It  is  bound  uniformly 
with  "Straight  On." 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3.  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

A  N  ENGLISHMAN  IN  PA  RIS.  Notes  and  Recol- 
•*-*  lections.  In  Two  Volumes,  ismo.  Cloth,  $4.50. 

This  work  gives  an  intimate  and  most  entertaining  series  of  pictures  of 
life  in  Paris  during  the  reigns  of  Louis  Philippe  and  Louis  Napoleon.  It 
contains  personal  reminiscences  of  the  old  Latin  Quarter,  the  Revolution  of 
1848,  the  coup  d^tat,  society,  art,  and  letters  during  the  Second  Empire,  the 
siege  of  Paris,  and  the  reign  of  the  Commune.  The  author  enjoyed  the 
acquaintance  of  most  of  the  celebrities  of  this  time  ;  and  he  describes  Balzac, 
Alfred  de  Mussel,  Sue,  the  elder  Dumas,  Taglioni,  Flaubert,  Auber,  Felicien 
David,  Delacroix,  Horace  Vernet,  Decamps,  Guizot,  Thiers,  and  many 
others,  whose  appearance  in  these  pages  is  the  occasion  for  fresh  and  inter- 
esting anecdotes.  This  work  may  well  be  described  as  a  volume  of  inner 
history  written  from  an  exceptionally  favorable  point  of  view. 

"...  All  questions  of  casuistry  aside,  the  taste  of  civilized  men  for  personal  details 
about  each  other  is  unquestionable.  .  .  .  For  this  reason  alone,  independently  of  its 
literary  merits,  '  An  Englishman  in  Paris  '  will  be  read  all  the  world  over  with  intense 
interest.  .  .  .  With  this  opportunity  for  knowing  men,  women,  and  affairs,  shrewd 
insight,  an  analytical  turn,  an  entire  self-command,  supplemented  by  an  easy,  fluent, 
unpretentious  style  of  telling  things,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  work  is  one  of 
the  most  interesting  which  has  come  from  the  press  in  a  long  time." — Chicago  Times. 

"  The  author  of  these  reminiscences,  near  the  close  of  the  second  volume,  says  that 
for  private  reasons,  which  he  can  not  and  must  not  mention,  he  has  decided  not  to 
make  known  his  name.  He  is  aware  that  in  choosing  this  course  he  will  diminish  the 
value  of  his  work,  because  he  is  'sufficiently  well  known  to  inspire  the  reader  with  con- 
fidence.' Editor  and  publisher  alike  have  respected  this  decision,  and  the  book  appears 
without  the  author's  name  on  the  title-page.  English  papers,  which  have  uniformly 
borne  testimony  to  the  rare  interest  of  the  work,  have,  however,  disclosed  the  author's 
name.  They  say  it  is  Sir  Richard  Wallace.  ...  A  man  of  mark  bir  Richard  was  in 
many  other  ways.  No  one  ever  shared  the  friendship  of  great  and  distinguished  men 
and  women  after  his  fashion  without  possessing  talents  and  charm  quite  out  of  the  com- 
mon order.  The  reader  of  these  volumes  will  not  marvel  more  at  the  unfailing  interest 
of  each  page  than  at  the  extraordinary  collection  of  eminent  persons  whom  the  author 
all  his  life  knew  intimately  and  met  frequently.  A  list  would  range  from  Dumas  the 
elder  to  David  the  sculptor,  from  Rachel  to  Balzac,  from  Louis  Napoleon  to  Eugene 
Delacroix,  from  Louis  Philippe  to  the  Princess  Demidoff,  and  from  Lo!a  Montez  to 
that  other  celebrated  woman,  Alphonsine  Plessis,  who  was  the  original  of  the  younger 
Dumas's  '  Dame  aux  Cam611ias.'  He  knew  these  persons  as  no  other  Englishman 
could  have  known  them,  and  he  writes  about  them  with  a  charm  that  has  all  the  at- 
traction of  the  most  pleasing  conversation.  The  reminiscences  weie  written  only  a 
few  years  before  his  death.  .  .  ." — Ne-w  York  Times. 

"  We  have  rarely  happened  upon  more  fascinating  volumes  than  these  Recollec- 
tions. .  .  .  One  good  story  leads  on  to  another;  one  personality  brings  up  reminiscences 
of  another,  and  we  are  hurried  along  in  a  rattle  of  gayety.  .  .  .  We  have  heard  many 
suggestions  Hzarded  as  to  the  anonymous  author  of  these  memoirs.  There  are  not 
above  three  or  four  Englishmen  with  whom  it  would  be  possible  to  identify  him.  We 
doubted  still  until  after  the  middle  of  the  second  volume  we  came  upon  two  or  three 
passages  which  strike  us  as  being  conclusive  circumstantial  evidence.  .  .  .  We  shall 
not  seek  to  strip  the  mask  from  the  anonymous." — London  'limes. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


LIFE  OF  AN  ARTIST.  An  Autobiography, 
by  JULES  BRETON.  Translated  by  MARY  J.  SERRANO.  Edi- 
tion de  Luxe,  with  Portrait,  Twenty  Plates,  and  fac-simile  of 
Autograph  Poem.  Gilt  top,  uncut  edges,  vellum  cover,  stamped 
in  gold  with  specially  prepared  design.  Royal  8vo.  $10.00. 

When  Jules  Breton's  charming  autobiography  "The  Life  of  an  Artist" 
was  first  published,  the  New  York  Tribune  said,  "The  success  of  this  book 
is  assured  from  the  first."  This  prediction  was  amply  justified.  There  were 
many,  however,  who  felt  that  there  was  one  omission,  due  to  the  modesty  of 
the  artist-author,  which  might  well  be  supplied,  and  it  was  suggested  that 
there  should  be  an  illustrated  edition  of  the  book  containing  reproductions  of 
the  artist's  work.  The  publishers  have  now  met  this  want  in  an  edition  de 
luxe,  containing  twenty  full-page  reproductions  of  Jules  Breton's  most  distin- 
guished paintings,  a  new  portrait  of  the  author,  and  a  fac-simile  of  a  manu- 
script poem  accompanied  by  a  sketch.  Among  the  paintings  which  have  been 
reproduced  are  "The  First  Communion,"  "  Evening  at  1  inistere,"  "  A  Par- 
don, Brittany,"  "  Ca'  ling  the  Gleaners,"  "  The  Colza-Gatherers,"  "The  Last 
Ray,"  "Going  to  the  Fields,"  and  "St.  John's  Eve." 

In  addition  to  the  pictures  which  are  in  the  galleries  of  American  amateurs, 
the  publishers  have  reproduced  examples  of  the  artist's  work  which  are  in 
France  and  England.  No  such  collection  of  Jules  Breton's  work  in  art  has 
been  formed  within  our  knowledge,  and  we  do  not  recall  any  publication 
which  offers  so  beautiful  a  series  of  pictures  of  rural  life  in  France. 

"  The  whole  work  is  written  so  frankly  and  with  such  simplicity  of  style  that  the 
reader  is  charmed.  He  seems  rather  to  be  listening  to  Breton's  voice  telling  the  story 
of  his  life  than  reading  it  as  written  by  his  pen."  —  Chicago  Times. 

"  One  understands  modern  France  the  better  for  this  autobiography  of  her  highly 
gifted  son."  —  Boston  Pilot. 

"This  autobiography  is  a  highly  individual  performance.  .  .  .  The  history  of  the 
movement  of  French  art  since  1848  is  also  incorporated  into  this  poetic  narrative.  The 
descriptions  of  Nature  are  beautiful."  —  Philadelphia  Ledger. 

SIDELINE'S   ART  DICTIONARY.     Containing 
•*•*     a   Complete   Index   of  all   Terms  used   in   Art,  Architecture, 
Heraldry,  and  Archaeology.     Translated  from  the  French  and 
enlarged,  with  nearly  2,000  Illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  $2.25. 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  comprehensive  in  its  way."  —  New  York  Sun. 

"General  utility  is  its  leading  characteristic.  .  .  .  The  book  is  well  printed  and 
handsomely  bound."—  Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  '  Adeline's  Art  Dictionary  '  might  be  called  a  condensed  encyclopedia  of  all  terms 
used  in  art,  architecture,  heraldry,  and  archaeology.  .  .  .  Definitions  are  given  of  all 
terms,  both  ancient  and  modern,  used  to  express  the  various  forms  and  different  parts 
of  architecture,  heraldry,  and  sculpture.  One  finds  descriptions  of  ornamental  woods, 
precious  stones,  glass,  pottery,  armors,  and  military  costumes.  Everything  which 
forms  the  component  part  of  a  picture  is  given,  or  what  may  be  included  in  its  descrip- 
tion, as  saints  and  their  symbols,  also  analysis  of  colors,  and  artistic  implements. 
Mention  is  made  of  various  schools  of  art  and  public  galleries,  etc.  _As  a  hand-book 
for  students  or  any  one  seeking  knowledge  on  the  subjects  contained,  it  can  not  fail  to 
be  of  great  use,  and  is  a  good  addition  to  any  library."  —  Chicago  Times. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


Brer  Rabbit  divulges  his  plans.     (From  "  Uncle  RIIHUS.") 

T  JNCLE  REMUS:   his  Songs  and  his  Sayings.     The 
V^      Folk-lore  of  the  Old  Plantation.     By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HAR- 
RIS.    Illustrated  from  Drawings  by  F.  S.  CHURCH  and  J.  H. 
MOSER,  of  Georgia.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  idea  of  preserving  and  publishing  these  legends  in  the  form  in  which  the  old 
plantation  negroes  actually  tell  them,  is  altogether  one  of  the  happiest  literary  con- 
ceptions of  the  day.  And  very  admirably  is  the  work  done.  .  .  .  In  such  touches  lies 
the  charm  of  this  fascinating  little  volume  of  legends,  which  deserves  to  be  placed  on  a 
level  with  Reincke  Fuchs  for  its  quaint  humor,  without  reference  to  the  ethnological 
interest  possessed  by  these  stories,  as  indicating,  perhaps,  a  common  origin  for  very 
widely  severed  races." — London  Spectator. 

"  We  are  just  discovering  what  admirable  literary  material  there  is  at  home,  what 
a  great  mine  there  is  to  explore,  and  how  quaint  and  peculiar  is  the  material  which 
can  be  dug  up.  Mr.  Harris's  book  may  be  looked  on  in  a  double  light — either  as  a 
pleasant  volume  recounting  the  stories  told  by  a  typical  old  colored  man  to  a  child, 
or  as  a  valuable  contribution  to  our  somewhat  meager  folk-lore.  .  .  .  To  Northern 
readers  the  story  of  Brer  (Brother — Brudder)  Rabbit  may  be  novel.  To  those  familiar 
with  plantation  life,  who  have  listened  to  these  quaint  old  stories,  who  have  still  tender 
reminiscences  of  some  good  old  mauma  who  told  these  wondrous  adventures  to  them 
when  they  were  children,  Brer  Rabbit,  the  Tar  Baby,  and  Brer  Fox  come  back  again 
with  all  the  past  pleasures  of  younger  days." — New  York  Times. 

"  Uncle  Remus's  sayings  on  current  happenings  are  very  shrewd  and  bright,  and 
the  plantation  and  revival  songs  are  choice  specimens  of  their  sort." — Boston  Journal. 

"  The  volume  is  a  most  readable  one,  whether  it  be  regarded  as  a  humorous  book 
merely,  or  as  a  contribution  to  the  literature  of  folk-lore." — New  York  World. 

"This  is  a  thoroughly  amusing  book,  and  is  much  the  best  humorous  compilation 
that  has  been  put  before  the  American  public  for  many  a  day." — Philadelphia  Tele- 
graph. 

New  York ;  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


BRER   RABBIT   PREACHES. 


N  THE  PLANT  A  TION. 
By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS,  au- 
thor of  "  Uncle  Remus."  With 
23  Illustrations  by  E.  W.  KEM- 
BLE,  and  Portrait  of  the  Author. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 
The  most  personal  and  in  some  re- 
spects the  most  important  work  which 
Mr.  Harris  has  published  since  "Uncle 
Remus."  Many  will  read  between  the 
lines  and  see  the  autobiography  of  the 
author.  In  addition  to  the  stirring  inci- 
dents which  appear  in  the  story,  the  au- 
thor presents  a  graphic  picture  of  certain 
phases  of  Southern  life  which  have  not 
appeared  in  his  books  before.  There  are  also  new  examples  of  the  folk-lore 
of  the  negroes,  which  became  classic  when  presented  to  the  public  in  the 
pages  of  "  Uncle  Remus.'' 

"The  book  is  in  the  characteristic  vein  which  has  made  the  author  so  famous  and 
popular  as  an  interpreter  of  plantation  character."— Rochester  Union  and  Advertiser. 

"Those  who  never  tire  of  Uncle  Remus  and  his  stories— with  whom  we  would  be 
accounted— will  delight  in  Joe  Maxwell  and  his  exploits." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"  Altogether  a  most  charming  book.'  — Chicago  Times. 

"  Really  a  valuable,  if  modest,  contribution  to  the  history  of  the  civil  war  within  the 
Confederate  lines,  particularly  on  the  eve  of  the  catastrophe.  While  Mr.  Harris,  in  his 
preface,  professes  to  have  lost  the  power  to  distinguish  between  what  is  true  and  what 
is  imaginative  in  his  episodical  narrative,  the  reader  readily  finds  the  clew.  Two  or 
three  new  animal  fables  are  introduced  with  effect ;  but  the  history  of  the  plantation,  the 
printing-office,  the  black  runaways,  and  white  deserters,  of  whom  the  impending  break- 
up made  the  community  tolerant,  the  coon  and  fox  hunting,  forms  the  serious  purpose 
of  the  book,  and  holds  the  reader's  interest  from  beginning  to  end.  Like  'Daddy  Jake,' 
this  is  a  good  anti-slavery  tract  in  disguise,  and  does  credit  to  Mr.  Harris's  humanity. 
There  are  amusing  illustrations  by  E.  W.  Kemble." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"A  charming  little  book,  tastefully  gotten  up.  .  .  .  Its  simplicity,  humor,  and  indi- 
viduality would  be  very  welcome  to  any  one  who  was  weary  of  the  pretentiousness  and 
the  dull  obviousness  of  the  average  fhree-vclume  novel." — London  Chronicle. 

"The  mirage  of  war  vanishes  and  reappears  like  an  ominous  shadow  on  the  horizon, 
but  the  stay-at-home  whites  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  were  likewise  threatened  by 
fears  of  a  servile  insurrection.  This  dark  dread  exerts  its  influence  on  a  narration  which 
is  otherwise  cheery  with  boyhood's  fortunate  freedom  from  anxiety,  and  sublime  disre- 
gard for  what  the  morrow  may  bring  forth.  The  simple  chronicle  of  old  times  'on  the 
plantation  '  concludes  all  too  soon  :  the  fire  burns  low  and  the  ta'e  is  ended  just  as  the 
reader  becomes  acclimated  to  the  mid-Georgian  village,  and  feels  thoroughly  at  home 
with  Joe  and  Mink.  The  'Owl  and  the  Birds,'  'Old  Zip  Coon,'  the  'Big  Injun  and 
the  Buzzard,'  are  joyous  echoes  of  the  plantation-lore  that  first  delighted  us  in  '  Uncle 
Remus."  Kemble's  illustrations,  evidently  studied  from  life,  are  interspersed  in  these 
pages  of  a  book  of  consummate  charm." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


APPLETONS'   TOWN  AND   COUNTRY   LIBRARY. 

PUBLISHED  SEMI-MONTHLY. 


1.  The  Steel  Hammer.    By  Louis  ULBACH. 

2.  Eve.    A  Novel.    By  S.  BARING-GOULD. 

3.  For  Fifteen  Years.    A  Sequel  to  The  Steel  Hammer.    By  Louis  ULBACH. 

4.  A  Counsel  of  Perfection.    A  Novel.    By  LUCAS  MALET. 

5.  The  Deemster.    A  Romance.    By  HALL  CAINE. 

6.  A  Virginia  Inheritance.    By  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

7.  Ninette :  An  Idyll  of  Provence.    By  the  author  of  Vera. 

8.  "  The  Right  Honourable.''''    A  Romance  of  Society  and  Politics.    By  JUSTIN 

MCCARTHY  and  Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

9.  The  Silence  of  Dean  Maitland.    By  MAXWELL  GREY. 

10.  Mrs.  Lorimer :  A  Study  in  Black  and  White.    By  LUCAS  MALET. 

11.  The  Elect  Lady.    By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

12.  The  Mystery  of  the"  Ocean  Star."    By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 

13.  Aristocracy.    A  Novel. 

14.  A  Recoiling  Vengeance.    By  FRANK  BARRETT.    With  Illustrations. 

15.  The  Secret  of  Fontaine-la- Croix.    By  MARGARET  FIELD. 

16.  The  Master  of  Rathkelly.    By  HAWLEY  SMART. 

17.  Donovan:  A  Modern  Englishman.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

18.  This  Mortal  Coil.    By  GRANT  ALLEN. 

19.  A  Fair  Emigrant.    By  ROSA  MULHOLLAND. 

20.  The  Apostate.    By  ERNEST  DAUDET. 

21.  Raleigh  Westgate ;  or,  Epimenides  in  Maine.    By  HELEN  K^NDHICK  JOHNSON. 

22.  Arms  the  Libyan:  A  Romance  of  the  Primitive  Church. 

23.  Constance,  and  Calbofs  Rival.    By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 

24.  We  Two.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

25.  A  Dreamer  of  Dreams.    By  the  author  of  Thoth. 

26.  The  Ladies''  Gallery.     By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY,  M.  P.,  and  Mrs.  TAMPBELL- 

PRAED. 

27.  The  Reproach  of  Annesley.    By  MAXWELL  GREY. 

28.  Near  to  Happiness. 

29.  In  the  Wire-  Grass.    By  Louis  PENDLETON. 

30.  Lace.    A  Berlin  Romance.    By  PAUL  LINDAU. 

31.  American  Coin.    A  Novel.    By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 
82.  Won  by  Waiting.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

33.  The  Story  of  Helen  Davenant.    By  VIOLET  FANE. 

34.  The  Light  of  Her  Countenance.    By  H.  H.  BOYESEN. 

35.  Mistress  Beatrice  Cope;  or,  Passages  in  the  Life  of  a  Jacobite's  THnghter. 

By  M.  E.  LE  CLERC. 

36.  The  Knight-Errant.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

37.  In  the  Golden  Days.    By  EDNA  LYALL. 

38.  Giraldl ;  or,  The  Curse  of  Love.    By  Ross  GEORGE  BERING. 

39.  A  Hardy  Norseman.    By  EDXA  LYALL. 

40.  The  Romance  of  Jenny  Harlowe,  and  Sketches  of  Maritime  Life.     By  W. 

CLARK  RUSSELL. 

41.  Passion's  Slave.    By  RICHARD  ASHE-KING. 

42.  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

43.  Countess  Loreley.    Translated  from  the  German  of  RUDOLF  MENGER. 

44.  Blind  Love.    By  WILKIE  COLLINS. 

45.  The  Dean's  Daughter.    By  SOPHIE  F.  F.  VEITCH. 

46.  Countess  Irene.    A  Romance  of  Austrian  Life.    By  J.  FOGERTY. 

47.  Robert  Broioning's  Principal  Shorter  Poems. 

48.  Frozen  Hearts.    By  G.  WEBB  APPLETON. 

49.  D.jambek  the  Georgian.    By  A.  G.  VON  SUTTNER. 

50.  The  Craze  of  Christian  Engelhart.    By  HENRY  FAULKNER  DARNELL. 

51.  Lai.    By  WILLIAM  A.  HAMMOND,  M.i). 

52.  Aline.    A  Novel.    By  HENRY  GREVILLE. 

53.  Joost  Avelingh.    A  Dutch  Story.    By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 

54.  Katy  of  Catoctin.    By  GEORGE  ALFRED  TOWNSEND. 

55.  Throckmorton.    A  Novel.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEA  WELL. 

56.  Expatriation.    By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

57.  Geoffrey  Hampstead.    By  T.  8.  JARVIS. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY.— ( Continued.) 

58.  Dmitri.    A  Romance  of  Old  Russia.    By  F.  W.  BAIN,  M.  A. 

59.  Part  of  the  Property.    By  BEATRICE  WHIT  BY. 

CO.  Bismarck  in  Private  Life.    By  a  FEI.I.OW  STUDENT. 

61.  In  Low  liclii-f.    By  MO'RLEY  KOBEKTS. 

62.  The  Canadians  of  Old.    A  Historical  Romance.    By  PHILIPPE  GASP£. 

63.  A  Squire  of  Low  Degree.    By  LILY  A.  LONG. 

64.  A  Fluttered  Dovecote.    By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN. 

65.  The  Nugents  of  Carricoitna.    An  Irish  Story.    By  TIOHE  HOPKINS. 

66.  A  Sensitive  Plant.    By  E.  and  D.  GERARD. 

67.  Dona  Luz.    By  Don  JUAN  VALERA.    Translated  by  Mrs.  MARY  J.  SERRANO. 
68   Pepita  Ximenez.     By  Don  JUAN  VALERA.    Translated  by  Airs.  MARY  J. 

SERRANO. 

69.  The  Primes  and  their  Neighbors.    Tales  of  Middle  Georgia.    By  RICHARD 

MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

70.  The  Iron  Game.    By  HENRY  F.  KEKNAN. 

71.  Stories  of  Old  New  Spain.    By  THOMAS  A.  JANVIER. 

72.  The  Maid  of  Honor.    By  Hon.  LEWIS  WINGFIELD. 

73.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.    By  MAXWELL  GRBY. 

74.  Consequences.    By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

75.  The  Three  Miss  Kinqs.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

76.  A  Matter  of  Skill.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

77.  Maid  Manan,  and  other  Stories.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL. 

78.  One  Woman's  Way.    By  EDMUND  PENDLETON. 

79.  A  Merciful  Divorce.    By  F.  W.  MAUDE. 

80.  Stephen  Ellicott's  Daughter.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL. 

81.  One  Reason  Why.    By  BEATRICE  WHITBY. 

82.  The  Tragedy  of  Ida  Noble.    By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 

83.  The  Johnstown  Stage,  and  other  Stories.    By  ROBERT  H.  FLETCHER. 

84.  A  Widower  Indeed.    By  RHODA  BROUGHTON  and  ELIZABETH  BISLAND. 

85.  The  Flight  of  the  Shadow.    By  GEORGE  MACDONALD. 

86.  Love  or  Money.    By  KATHARINE  LEE. 

87.  Not  All  in  Vain.    By  ADA  CAMBRIDGE. 

88.  It  Happened  Yesterday.    By  FREDERICK  MARSHALL. 

89.  My  Guardian.    By  ABA  CAMBRIDGE. 

90.  The  Story  of  Philip  Methuen.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEDELL. 

91.  Amethyst :  The  Story  of  a  Beanty.    By  CHRIST  ABEL  R.  COLERIDGE. 

92.  Don  Braulio.    By  JUAN  VALERA.    Translated  by  CLARA  BELL. 

93.  Dukesborough  Tales.    By  RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

94.  A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream.    By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

95.  "  La  Bella  "  and  Others.    By  EGERTON  CASTLE. 

96.  "  December  Hoses."    By  Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

97.  Jean  de  Kerdren.    By  JEANNE  SCHULTZ. 

98.  Etelka's  Vow.    By  DOROTHEA  GERARD. 

99.  Cross  Currents.    By  MARY  A.  DICKENS. 

100.  His  Life's  Magnet.    By  THEODORA  ELMSLIE. 

101.  Passing  the  Love  of  Women.    By  Mrs.  J.  H.  NEEIIELL. 

102.  In  Old  St.  Stephen's.    By  JEANIE  DRAKE. 

103.  The  Berkeleys  and  their  Neighbors.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL. 

Each,  12mo.    Paper,  50  cents ;  cloth,  75  cents  and  $1.00. 


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